Book 19 - Bastille Day
by GailDunn2
Summary: WARNING: ADULT THEMES AND SITUATIONS. The group of human monsters has a grand and shocking plan. Will Cas, Sam, Dean and Gail be able to prevent Armageddon on a smaller scale while staying true to their mission? At what point do the needs of the few outweigh the needs of the many? And who has the responsibility of deciding where the line is to be drawn?
1. Heaven Can Wait

Chapter 1 - Heaven Can Wait

Cas stepped out of the bar and walked around the corner into the alleyway. What was he going to do?

He couldn't just go out into the streets, seize an immigrant, bring him back to the bar, and then kill him. Despite the fact that so many lives could potentially hang in the balance, Cas couldn't even entertain an idea like that. But then, what was he going to do?

Could he perhaps approach someone and ask them to accompany him back to the bar and then pretend to kill him? No, that wouldn't work; there was no way that Etienne would fall for that. Yet if he came back alone, the white supremacists would realize that he and Sam and Dean were not the type of people they claimed to be, and then all would be lost.

Cas paced back and forth, thinking furiously. Then a germ of an idea occurred to him. He called Crowley on their private frequency, and the King of Hell appeared a couple of minutes later.

"Enjoying your Parisian honeymoon?" Crowley said casually.

Castiel frowned. "I have no time to joke around," he said. He told his Brother about the situation.

Crowley regarded him evenly. "That IS quite the dilemma. What are you going to do, Castiel?"

"I need your assistance," Cas said.

"Again, Castiel?" Crowley said testily. "How on earth did Heaven ever get along without me all those years? You already owe me a favour, and it's a huge one, as you'll recall. Maybe I'm tired of bailing you out, every time I turn around."

"If I can't satisfy their request, we won't gain admittance to their organization," Cas persisted, "and if we can't get in, we have no way of getting the Tablet."

Crowley was frowning. He was hard-wired to give his Brother a difficult time at the best of times, but he was becoming genuinely angry with him now. Castiel seemed to think that Crowley existed just to do things for him. He had a Kingdom to run, didn't he?

He patted his pockets. "I seem to have left my Angel wings in my other suit," he said sardonically. "I guess you'll just have to decide what your priorities are, Castiel, and realize that being the General sometimes means you have to make the hard decisions. I thought you had that figured out in Egypt. Maybe that's why Bobby didn't want to be God any more. Any voter will tell you that it's much easier to sit back and bitch about the decisions made by the Powers That Be. Hell, any non-voter will tell you that, too. You'll find it's not so easy being the one that the buck stops with. Is it any wonder I'm going grey at the temples? Of course, on me, it looks distinguished."

Castiel was seething with frustration and anger now. He desperately needed Crowley's assistance, and his Brother was wasting time pontificating. And the fact that Crowley was right in his analysis only made it all the more maddening. It WASN'T easy making these types of decisions, and Cas was notorious for being one of Heaven's worst decision-makers. But that was not why he had summoned Crowley. Cas had thought up a loophole.

"I'll listen to your speechifying another time," Cas told the King impatiently. "I'm not asking you to make the decision for me; I've already made it. I asked you here to gain your permission to borrow one of your employees."

Crowley's eyebrows raised. As so often happened, he was already several moves ahead on the chessboard. "I have to hand it to you, Castiel. That's a good idea."

Cas gave Crowley a thin smile. It didn't surprise him that his Brother had already gotten there. Good. It would save time. "Can I have him, then?" he asked Crowley.

"Yes, you can have him," Crowley replied. "And as far as I'm concerned, you can keep him. Ever since I got him back, he's been nothing but trouble."

Cas frowned. Great. Another Metatron in the making. But, desperate times called for desperate measures, and he was running out of time. "I wonder why he would agree to help us, though," Cas said. "We didn't exactly part on good terms." Now his lips twitched. That was the understatement of the century.

"I'll let you in on a little secret," Crowley said. He was looking at Cas's face curiously. He'd seen his Brother's mouth move, and it had surprised him. Every once in a while, Crowley wondered if he had actually removed every ounce of Demon from Castiel back at the cabin. "I'm sure you can persuade him to play along if you promise him a ticket to Heaven, afterwards."

Now Cas was alarmed. "I can't do that!" he exclaimed. "You know I don't have the authority to do that." And neither did Bobby any more, he thought, frustrated. Only God had that kind of authority.

Crowley stepped forward. "I do know that. But he doesn't. Lie," he said bluntly. "I know you know how to do that."

Cas was dismayed. Yes, he had to lie from time to time, out of necessity. But this would be a very big lie. The clock was ticking, though. "OK," he told Crowley. "Bring him, then. We're running out of time."

Crowley glared at his Brother. There he went, ordering Crowley around again, using that imperious tone. They would be having a talk about that, and very soon. But he could also tell that time was of the essence. If Castiel didn't return to the bar soon, those men would probably come looking for him. And like it or not, the Tablets were still their mutual priority. Also, this particular caper would ultimately be of benefit to Crowley. He had not been joking when he'd told Castiel that Paul was a troublemaker. Ever since Castiel had tortured Paul and Crowley had brought him back to Hell, he had been nothing but a thorn in Crowley's side. Of course, the fact that the King had had him systematically tortured for the first week after he'd gotten back probably hadn't helped Paul's mood. But he had turned traitor and aligned himself with Lucifer, and if there was one thing that Crowley couldn't abide, it was a traitor. Especially since Crowley had sent Paul to Earth in the first place. Once he'd been released from the torture chamber, Paul had been brought to Crowley's office, where he'd told the King that he would stop at nothing to take his revenge on everyone who had wronged him. And Crowley and Castiel were at the top of his list. While Paul didn't scare Crowley in the slightest, he was the type of person who would dedicate himself to causing the King as much trouble as possible. In short, he was just like his father had been. The Archangels had been the worst. Crowley would never admit this out loud, but he would sooner deal with ten Castiels than with another Archangel. They had all been a pain in his rear pants pocket, and he was glad they were all gone now. He supposed he owed a debt of gratitude to Castiel and the Winchesters, as the three of them had either directly or indirectly been responsible for the demise of all of the Archangels.

So Crowley was fully prepared to foist Paul off on Castiel. The fact that his Brother had no authority to allow Paul into Heaven did not concern Crowley in the slightest. Once Crowley brought Paul here, he would be Castiel's problem. And the fact that Paul would be angrier than a hornet's nest at being lied to would just be the sweet icing on the cake.

"Wait here. I'll get him," Crowley told Cas, smirking inwardly.

A minute later, Crowley returned, with Paul in tow. The Demon glared at Cas. "Crowley tells me you'll scratch my back if I scratch yours," Paul said without preliminary.

Cas swallowed. "Yes," he replied.

"All right, I'll do it," Paul said, frowning. "But, make no mistake: I'm not doing this out of the goodness of my heart. Crowley told me that you will ascend me to Heaven if I play along with this little charade. But since when are YOU able to do something like that? I know you told my father that you were God, Castiel, but here's a news flash: you're not."

Cas's stomach rolled. This was going to come back and bite him on the ass, just like all of his other really poor decisions. But he saw no other alternative.

"Yes, I'm not," he said to Paul. "But I am one of God's Originals, if you'll recall."

"Meaning what?" Paul asked boldly.

"Meaning, I have additional powers," Cas replied tersely. There. He hadn't actually lied. Well, not per se, anyway. "Come on. We need to go," he added, gesturing.

"Just a minute," Paul said. "I want your word that you will raise me to my rightful place once this is done."

"Yes, fine. You have my word. Fine," Cas said impatiently. It was bad enough without belabouring the point. He would have to figure out what to do to fix the situation after he and the Winchesters gained admission into this cursed club. They needed to go back to the bar now and get this over with.

Cas hadn't taken the time to think about the way that Paul had phrased his statement, not had Paul taken the time to really think about what Castiel had promised, and what he hadn't. It had never occurred to Paul that Castiel would out-and-out lie. He had forgotten that Cas had been around humans for a long time now, and that the moral lines in such matters could be extremely fluid. So, Paul nodded. "All right. Let's go."

"Call me when you're done," Crowley said to Castiel, and then the white Angel and the black Demon walked down the alleyway. Crowley shook his head slowly. His Brother, the sucker. He snapped himself back to Hell. Might as well get a little paperwork done while he waited.

Once Cas had plunked Paul down in the chair, he leaned forward to stab the Demon in the chest. As they had agreed, Paul exhaled, transferring his essence into Cas just before Cas stabbed Paul's vessel. None of the other men saw this, as Cas had deliberately blocked their view of Paul with his own body. By the time Etienne approached them with the beer stein to collect Paul's blood, Paul was already inside of Cas, and his empty vessel was slumping to the floor. If Etienne were to check it for vital signs, he would be checking a corpse.

When Cas slammed his bloody blade down on the table, he was continuing to play his part. But now, he had Paul's essence inside of him too, and they were co-existing inside his body in an uneasy truce.

"Let's get this damn thing signed," Paul said. He couldn't believe he was going to sit down at a table with these Nazi bastards and sign a contract for membership in a white supremacist organization, using his own blood for the ink. This was one for the books.

He looked to his right. The two tall dudes in the flannel shirts that were looking at him with the big, googly eyes had to be Sam and Dean Winchester. Funny, they were looking even whiter than white right now. Paul smirked. Obviously, Castiel hadn't shared his little brainstorm with them.

Etienne clapped Cas on the shoulder. "Good job, Cas. Quick and dirty. No sense wasting any time. Benoit is really going to enjoy giving you assignments." The men sat down at the table, and Etienne opened the case that held the knives that they had used earlier. He pressed a button that released a false bottom and then took out a contract form and a fountain pen. He dipped the pen in the stein that held Paul's blood, and handed it and the contract to Cas.

"Sign quickly," Etienne told him. "Black blood tends to dry up really fast."

Paul took the pen from him and slammed the contract down on the table in front of Cas. It was taking everything he had not to pick up Cas's blade and ram it right down this French-fried Nazi's throat. He gripped the pen tight, signing Cas's name on the bottom of the piece of paper. Then he slid the contract and the pen over to Dean.

Dean was staring at Cas. His friend was acting really weird, and it wasn't just because he was playing a part. Dean looked at Cas curiously. He couldn't believe what he had just seen Cas do. Was getting that damn Tablet so important that it was apparently OK to take an innocent man's life to accomplish? How the hell were they ever going to live with themselves now? Dean picked up the pen with a trembling hand and signed the contract, then he slid it to Sam. Then he drained the contents of his stein and poured another glass from the pitcher.

Sam was also staring at Cas with narrowed eyes. There was something fishy going on here. The Cas he knew would never have done anything like what he had just witnessed. It had to be some kind of a trick. But the guy he had stabbed was laying on the floor dead, and that was real blood in the stein. So what the hell was going on here? He picked up the pen, but Etienne gestured to him.

"Give it here," Etienne said. "I think it needs freshening. I told you, black blood dries fast."

Sam handed him the pen and Etienne dipped it in the stein, again, and handed it back. Paul was glaring at Etienne, wondering how quick cracker blood dried. They'd better wrap this up, before he overpowered Castiel altogether and killed them all, just to find out.

Sam signed the contract and pushed it back to Etienne. He felt like throwing up. There was blood from the victim on his fingers now, and he wiped his hand on his pants in disgust. What the hell had they just done?

Paul was looking at Sam and Dean now, and he was slightly mollified to see the looks on their faces. He didn't know that much about the brothers, so he was prepared to maybe give them the benefit of the doubt. The fact that they were buddies with Castiel didn't exactly help, but humans had long been hapless victims of Angels and their otherworldly powers, and delusions of grandeur. It must be nice to be one of the Upper Echelon, Paul thought. He'd love to be Castiel for just one day. Then again, what was he saying? He WAS Castiel, right now.

"Congratulations," Etienne was saying. "The initiation is over. You're full-fledged members now."

"You guys are looking a little green," Kurt said to Sam and Dean, smirking. "Maybe you'd better go back to the hotel and sleep it off."

"And you probably want to go back to the hotel, too," Etienne said to Cas. "I'll have Kurt and Gregoire drive you all back, and I'll go to the clubhouse and get Gail and bring her to the hotel for you. You'll probably want to clean up first, though. You've got coon blood all over you. That doesn't exactly turn a woman on."

Paul grabbed Cas's blade and stood from his chair. Don't do it, Castiel told him. I'll expel your essence into one of these men, and you can spend the rest of your existence as the very thing you hate. Just hold your temper for a few minutes longer.

"What are we going to do with that?" Paul asked Etienne, gesturing towards his vessel. He stashed the blade in his jacket pocket, so he wouldn't have it in his hand. Too tempting that way.

"What do you want to do with it?" Etienne asked him. "Your kill, your call."

"I have to take a wicked whiz," Dean said suddenly. He stood up from his chair. "Anybody else? Cas?" he added, raising an eyebrow.

Cas looked at him. Not exactly subtle. But poor Dean must be wondering if his friend had taken leave of his senses now. Cas supposed he owed his friend an explanation. Besides, neither Cas nor Paul knew how they were going to get Paul back into his body, if Cas was back at the hotel and Paul's vessel was elsewhere. What should they say they wanted him to do with the body?

"Yeah, I'll come with," Paul told Dean.

"What are you, women?" Kurt said scornfully.

"Keep it up, and my blade and I will make YOU into a woman," Cas said. "How would that be?"

Kurt shut up, and Paul grinned. OK, he had to hand it to Castiel; that had been pretty good.

Once they got to the mens' room, Dean wheeled on Cas. "What the hell, Cas? What was that, back there? What did you do?"

Cas began to explain as Dean undid his pants and urinated for what felt to him like an hour. Then Dean flushed the urinal, as Cas stopped the narrative and stared at him.

"What? I had to go," Dean said defensively. "I had at least eight glasses of beer, and all those shots. I'm amazed that Sammy isn't in here with us right now. He must have the constitution of an elephant. Anyway, you were saying?"

"Aren't you gonna wash your hands?" Paul said to Dean.

"Naah, I didn't get any on me. It'll be fine," Dean said, smiling. He was still pretty drunk, although the shock of what he'd seen had sobered him up a bit. Now he felt a little better, though. Cas hadn't killed an innocent human, after all. He'd only killed a Demon.

"And they call US filthy," Paul muttered.

Dean was staring at him. "What?" he said blankly.

Dean wasn't getting it. "So what are we going to do with my body until we can get me back in it?" Paul asked Dean.

Dean had the googly eyes again. How did Castiel not laugh every time he looked at his friend? Oh, right. Because he was too busy dealing with that stick that was apparently lodged up his butt. Although, he had recently gotten married, a fact which had surprised Paul quite a bit. His little wife was cute, too. So Castiel obviously did have a softer side to him. But that still didn't mean that Paul was ever really going to like the guy. It was strange being in Cas's body and in his head right now. Castiel was trying to think several steps ahead, just like Crowley, but it was difficult for him. He had the intelligence, but he was letting his emotions get in the way. He'd been concerned about what the Winchesters would think of him, and now that that concern had been halfway alleviated, Cas's thoughts were all for his wife. How was he going to tell her about this? Castiel was still shielding the big lie from Paul in their shared brain right now, so Paul was under the impression that Cas was worried about the chewing out he would get from his wife if she discovered he'd allowed himself to be possessed by a Demon again. Not that he planned on her finding out. That thought made Paul grin. Human men and Angels were apparently not that different when it came to marriage, and he found it very amusing that Castiel would be afraid to tell something to his wife. Castiel, Heaven's warrior, actually afraid. She must be a formidable woman, even though she was just a tiny thing.

Dean was shocked by what Cas had just said. "YOUR body? What do you mean?"

"Does flannel make you stupid?" Paul said sharply. "I'm not dead! I'm in your friend!"

"Why?" Dean asked, incredulous.

Paul shrugged. "Castiel needed a nigger."

Dean's body jerked, as if Paul had punched him in the face. Paul smirked. "What? Never heard that word before?" He leaned closer to Dean. "Never USED that word before?"

"No!" Dean replied indignantly. "We don't say offensive crap like that!"

"No? Well, good for you," Paul said airily. "But I'm sure you've THOUGHT it before."

Dean sighed. He had no idea why Cas would have agreed to leave this Demon bastard alive, but the guy was getting on his nerves now. And it was really weird seeing things like that coming out of Cas's mouth. Cas was just as white as any of them.

"Look, if Cas is in there too, the both of you need to cool it," Dean said. "We'll tell them we're gonna dispose of the body. Then we'll just take it with us, and once we shake those guys, you can do your Angel voodoo crap, Cas."

"'Angel voodoo crap'?" Paul said, smiling. "I like that. No wonder Castiel enjoys hanging out with you guys. You're funny."

"Yeah, I'm freakin' hilarious," Dean said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "Let's go, Snoop Dogg."

When they got back to the table, Etienne said to Cas, "I have a surprise for you. Gail is on her way back to the hotel right now. I told Lise to take her there. So, she'll be waiting there for you when we drop you off. I know how hot something like what you just did makes me, and unless you've had too much to drink, your little wife might well be the lucky recipient of all of that...motivation, oui?"

Crap, Dean thought. What about the body? Personally, he'd be fine with just leaving it here, but Cas had obviously made some kind of agreement with the guy. In the meantime, he made eye contact with Sam and winked at his brother. Dean could see how distressed Sammy looked, and that was all that Dean could do to reassure him at the moment. Sam's shoulders relaxed a bit, when he'd seen Dean do that. The brothers had become very good at non-verbal communication after all these years.

Cas was seething at what Etienne had just said, but he was glad that at least Gail would be safely back at the hotel, and that Etienne would not be driving her anywhere.

"Thanks," he made himself say. He and Dean exchanged glances. They needed to shake these guys in order to put Demon Paul back into his vessel. But they obviously couldn't say they wanted to bring his dead body with them back to the hotel, either.

Then Dean had an idea. "Cas and I were talking, in there," he jerked his head in the direction of the bathroom, "and we thought we could dump the body in the catacombs. The rats can have a field day, and when they're done, we can leave his bones there. Maybe put him into one of those sculptures, or something."

Etienne was impressed. "That's a great idea, Dean." Better that guy than him, he thought. He could just bet he knew who had suggested that, too. Now that Cas had proven himself to be a stone-cold killer, Etienne had better be a little more conciliatory towards him. "I'll tell you what," Etienne went on. "I'll take you three back to the hotel myself. Kurt and Gregoire will stay here and clean up, and they can take out the garbage when they're done. Dump it in the catacombs. I'll give them my key to the door of the place."

Kurt and Gregoire looked at each other. They hated it when Etienne treated them like his personal lackeys. But, the hierarchy was the hierarchy, and they were loyal to the Cause. Besides, they could drink their fill as they were cleaning up, and then, they could get rid of the corpse of a jungle bunny. Plus, they'd been treated to one hell of a show, something that the other guys in the club never got to see. All in all, a pretty good day.

Paul's lips were pursed. He didn't want his vessel to be dumped into some damn catacombs, to be a meal for some rats. He wanted to keep his same vessel. Or did he? Maybe he should have Castiel put him in a white guy next, just to see how the other half lived. Or maybe he should just stay in Castiel for a while and enjoy the feeling of everybody kissing his ass.

But Castiel was weighing in, now. He knew that Paul would be alarmed by what Etienne was suggesting; however, they could make it work, he told Paul. The instant they were dropped off at the hotel, they could collect Gail, and the Angels could pop over to the catacombs. Then, as soon as Paul's body was taken there, they could transfer him back, before anything happened to it.

Paul couldn't really see a flaw in that plan, so he trooped along with Etienne and the Winchesters to Etienne's car, and a few minutes later, they were back at the hotel.

"Sleep it off, boys," Etienne told them once they got out of the car. "We'll call you tomorrow morning to go over the plan." Then he drove off.

Sam wheeled on Cas and Dean as soon as Etienne's car was out of sight. "OK, what the hell was that?" he exclaimed.

Cas sighed. "Let's go inside. I'll explain everything. But I need to make sure that Gail is OK, first. If she's not here, I'm going to call her on her cell phone. And if she doesn't answer, I'm going to pop back to that bar and kick some racist ass."

Sam looked at him, startled. Dean grabbed his brother's arm. "Come on, let's get Malcolm X here upstairs," Dean said. Paul looked at him sharply, and then he grinned. He was starting to like this guy, almost against his will. And the look on Sam's face right now was priceless.

They went straight to Cas and Gail's room, and Paul knocked on the door as Sam and Dean looked at each other, amused. It was weird seeing Cas knock on his own door.

Gail opened the door. "Why are you knocking?" she said to Cas with a smile. She opened the door wider to let the three of them in. "How'd it go?" She closed the door and then turned around to look at the men.

Cas couldn't help it. He put his arms around her and kissed her on the lips. "I'm so glad you're all right," he said to her.

"Ditto," Gail said. She touched his face. "I missed you," she told him.

Paul had never had a woman touch his face like that before, and it had been years and years since he had even kissed one. He leaned down and kissed her on the mouth again, and Gail opened her mouth now. They kissed like that for a minute, and then Castiel pulled away. Paul was enjoying himself a little too much.

"Damn, girl," Paul murmured. Now Cas was becoming agitated. He was visibly excited, and the Winchesters were smirking now. Cas could usually control himself until he and Gail were alone, but Paul hadn't been with a willing woman in a long time.

Gail looked at Cas quizzically. In all the time she'd known him, she had never heard him use an expression like that. Was he trying to be funny?

"Don't you think you'd better tell Gail what's going on, Cas?" Dean prompted his friend.

Right. Paul had better cool it. Cas took Gail by the hand and sat her down on the bed, while Sam and Dean took the chairs by the table. Cas explained what he had done back at the bar, and the arrangement that he and Paul had made.

Sam was grinning. Even though the idea of a Demon inside Cas's body was pretty crazy, he was glad that their friend hadn't actually killed an innocent human being. Sam should have figured as much. That would have gone against everything they all believed in. This was weird, but it was definitely the better alternative.

Gail was frustrated. Great. Now Cas had another Demon in him. But she could hardly give him hell about it, especially right now. Sam and Dean were here, and they didn't know anything about him having been a Demon before. Not to mention the fact that in this instance, it had clearly been the right thing to do. So she breathed deeply and counted to ten, and she squeezed his hand. "I'm glad you were able to think of that," she told Cas.

"Me, too," he replied. He put his arms around her and pulled her to him. "And I'm so glad you're safe," he told her. He kissed her on the mouth again, and Gail couldn't help but respond. This was Cas's face, and these were his lips. But then his hand lifted her top and touched her bare skin.

Gail pulled away and looked at him. Paul was grinning now. "Hey, you can't blame a guy for trying," he said to her. She shook her head, trying not to smile. This was Paul, the Demon who had been working for Lucifer, and who Cas had tortured. She should not be charmed by anything this guy said or did. But it was a little difficult, when he was wearing her husband for a costume. Wouldn't that have been the prize-winner last night at the party.

She gave him a look of warning and moved away from him a bit. "I had a pretty interesting day, too," she told the men with a grim smile. She described what she had heard Jacqueline and Renee talking about, and what she and Lise had been doing with the wires.

Cas jumped up from the bed. He was livid, and so was Paul. "So those damn Nazis are gonna put suicide vests on you women and send you in to blow all those people up?"

Gail frowned. "Apparently, that's the plan."

"Oh, hell no," Paul said, agitated. "We've got to go in there and kill those bastards, before they kill all of us."

"We've been working on that," Cas said aloud, "but we haven't been able to get the location of their headquarters yet."

Gail and Sam and Dean all looked at each other, bemused. Just when they thought this couldn't get any weirder, now Cas was talking aloud to himself.

"I may be able to help with that," Gail said, "or at least, I can try. When Lise drove me here, she didn't put a blindfold on me. If we get into a car, we can try to retrace my steps. But it better be soon, you guys. I'm already starting to forget some of the turns she took."

Paul clenched his fists in frustration. "What about my body?" he fumed. "I don't want to be a meal for no rats."

"Fair enough," Castiel said. "I'll pop you over to the catacombs and we'll get your vessel. We'll put you back in it, and then we'll go. But how are we going to get a car?"

"I'll call Henri," Dean said, pulling out his cell phone. "See if he's got one. And, Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?" Cas said.

"Can you and Paul talk to each other in your head?" Dean complained. "You're freaking me out."

Gail couldn't help but smile. He should try kissing them both at the same time. But it was starting to freak her out a little bit, too. It was strange seeing Cas talk the way that Paul would, using some of his phraseology, for lack of a better term. She would have to file this away so they could laugh about it later. Much, much later.

A short while later, Henri was standing in Cas and Gail's room, looking incredulously at Gail and the Winchesters. "You and Cas are what, now?" he was asking Gail.

When Dean had called Henri, he'd been just a couple of blocks away from the hotel, having a cup of coffee at a local bistro. He'd wanted to stay close to the hotel, he'd said, in case they called. So he had walked over here, and they were now waiting for Cas and Paul to get back.

Cas was going to pop in here any minute, accompanied by a Demon, and Henri would receive the fright of his life. So Gail felt they had no choice but to tell Henri of their status.

"I know, it's hard to believe," she said to Henri.

The skin around his eyes crinkled as he smiled at her. "No, not at all," he said. "I could tell there was something different about the two of you. An innate goodness, let's just call it."

"What about us?" Sam said, grinning.

Henri looked up at him. "You? You and Dean smell like you just came back from a tour of a brewery."

"We pretty much did," Sam admitted. He and Dean told Henri about the initiation, but they glossed over many of the details in order to spare his feelings.

Henri could read between the lines, though, and he felt sick. Thank God for these folks. It didn't particularly surprise him that Cas and Gail were Angels; the four of them were truly doing God's work.

They had prepared him as best they could, but Henri still jumped in shock when Cas popped into the room, accompanied by a young black man. Cas had his hand on the man's arm, and as soon as they appeared, the Demon jerked his arm out of the Angel's grasp.

"Lying cracker bastard!" Paul was yelling. "If I had a blade, I would stab your ass right now."

"Well, you don't, and you need to listen to me," Cas said sternly. "We'll work something out. But you've seen these people, Paul. They have to be brought to justice."

"So you lied, right to my face!?" Paul exclaimed.

"You said you wouldn't do it just out of the goodness of your heart," Cas retorted. "You didn't leave me any choice."

"Oh, and you're doing this because it's the right thing to do," Paul said sarcastically. "It wouldn't have anything to do with a certain Tablet, would it?"

"I'm not going to stand here and argue with you, or justify myself to you," Castiel said impatiently. "If you can't appreciate that we're trying to do the right thing, then I'll call Crowley, and he can have you back."

"I should have figured you were going to stab me in the back," Paul said angrily. "I'm just another slave to you, aren't I? Just one more nigger son of a bitch that you can screw over."

"See here, young man!" Henri exclaimed indignantly. "Watch your language!"

Paul had been keyed in on Castiel, and he looked at Henri now, startled. Who was this older black dude, now? He had to be a human, because Paul wasn't getting a vibe from him.

"You owe me an apology," Henri said to Paul, shaking with anger. "My grandfather fought here in the War to ensure that words like that would not be used."

Paul looked at him. He was about to say a smart remark when something in the man's eyes stopped him. There was an air of quiet authority about him, a sense of dignity. Paul couldn't get angry at this man. If anyone understood the struggle, it would be him. He'd probably undergone quite a few slights and humiliations himself, when he was younger. Paul gave Henri a half-bow with only a modicum of sarcasm in it.

"Sorry, Sir," he said.

Henri continued to glare at him. "Now, apologize to the lady," he said, gesturing to Gail.

"What?" Paul exclaimed. "Why?"

"You used bad language," Henri told him calmly.

Gail had to fight very hard to keep a straight face. She really liked Henri. In a lot of ways, he reminded her of Castiel, when he was being an old-school gentleman.

Paul sighed in frustration. "But she's no lady, she's - "

"I'd be very careful about the next word you use, or it may be your last," Cas said to Paul, and now Gail did smile. She just couldn't help it.

"Fine," Paul said. "Sorry." Then he glared at Cas. "But this - " he glanced at Henri uneasily " - darn son of a gun lied to me!"

Cas's lips were pursed with frustration. "I told you, we'll work something out," he told Paul. "But right now, we have to see if we can find that clubhouse before it gets dark."

"There's only one problem, Cas," Sam said. "Henri doesn't have a car."

Henri shrugged. "I'm sorry, but I sold it a while back. I walk everywhere I need to go, or I take the Metro."

Dean had had it. They were wasting time. "Everybody just wait here. Sammy and I will be right back." He gestured impatiently to his brother, and the two of them left the room.

Henri looked at Cas. "So, you're Angels," he said, bemused. "And who is this...exuberant young man with you?"

Cas gave him a thin smile. "It's a long story," he replied.

"Seems to me we've got a few minutes until Sam and Dean get back from wherever they went," Henri said reasonably.

Cas sighed. "This is Paul. He's...the son of an old acquaintance of mine. He's been helping us. Haven't you, Paul?"

Paul glared at him. "Yeah. Whatever. Fine. But what am I supposed to do now? You never had the authority to promise that I could ascend, did you? I should have known I couldn't trust you."

"Give me some time. I'll work something out, I promise," Cas said irritably.

"You promise," Paul said sarcastically. "Just like you promised when you got me into this in the first place?"

"I don't know what the problem is between the two of you," Henri said quietly, "but I think you should give Cas the benefit of the doubt, Paul. He's trying to do the right thing here. And if you're helping him, then you're doing God's work."

Paul laughed shortly, but he said nothing. God's work. Right.

But Cas snorted in derision. "You're wasting your breath, Henri. Paul wouldn't know anything about that. He's been doing the Devil's work. He's a Demon."

Henri's eyes widened. He walked closer to Paul, looking him in the eye. "Why?" he said.

Paul's brow furrowed. "Why? What do you mean, why?"

"Just what I said," Henri answered, continuing to stare him down. "Why would you turn your back on the Lord like that?"

"The Lord?" Paul echoed. "You're tripping! He turned his back on us years ago."

"From what I can see here, it's quite the opposite," Henri retorted, gesturing to Cas and Gail.

Paul looked at him evenly. "Let me ask you something. How many relatives do you have who were whipped? Lynched? Raped?" he asked Henri.

"Too damn many," the older man said through clenched teeth. "What's your point, Son?"

"My point is that God doesn't exist anymore, or if he does, he doesn't give a damn about us!" Paul exclaimed.

"The Good Lord helps those who help themselves," Henri told the younger man. "I prayed to the Father every night to send help, but I've also spent years, and my entire life's savings, trying to bring Les Rebelles Blancs to justice. That's why I had to sell my car. But God heard my prayers, and He's sent Cas and Gail and Sam and Dean to help. Those racist sons of bitches will finally pay. I will make sure of that, before I die. So you need to get on board, Son, or get out of the way." Then he stepped away from Paul and looked at Gail. "I apologize for my bad language, little lady," Henri said to her, and she smiled at him.

Paul stood there tight-lipped, looking at Henri. There were a lot of things he could say to the old man right now. He could say that he used to pray to God, but he'd never received a response, not even once. And he could say that as far as fathers went, Castiel had killed his for no apparent reason, and Henri needed to stop calling Paul his "Son". But he kept his mouth shut, because it was obvious that Henri had some kind of a personal score to settle with these Nazis, and really, they were all on the same page when it came to that particular thing.

"OK, I'm in," Paul said. He looked at Cas. "I'll help you get those guys, and then we can talk. But if you double-cross me - "

"I know. You'll kill me," Cas said wearily. He couldn't wait for this whole thing to be over.

Paul's lips twitched. Damn Castiel. He'd better not screw Paul over.

Cas's cell phone rang. It was Dean, telling him that he and Sam were waiting downstairs. Meet them out front of the hotel.

Gail sat in the front of the car, sandwiched between Sam and Dean. They'd been driving around for a while now, but it was getting dark, and she was disoriented. When they'd started off to retrace her route, she'd thought that she remembered, but now, the streets were all looking alike to her, and then darkness fell, rendering everything moot.

"Dammit!" she exclaimed, frustrated. Then she half-turned to look at the occupants of the back seat. "Sorry for my bad language, Henri," she quipped.

"Pas de probleme," he quipped in return. Henri was a little disappointed, but truthfully, not as much as he could have been. The men had been initiated into the club now, and the Nazi bastards were going to fit little Gail with a suicide vest. Surely his friends would be able to gather the evidence they needed tomorrow. And as far as this mysterious Tablet went, the one that Paul had referred to, there had been no further mention of it, and Henri supposed it was none of his business, anyway.

Cas sighed. "I'm sorry, Henri. We might as well drop you off at your home, and we'll call you once we have more news."

"That'll be fine, Cas," Henri said. He gave Dean the directions and then sat back, looking out the window.

Paul frowned. "What about me? What am I supposed to do until tomorrow?"

Dean rolled his eyes. He'd never heard a Demon whine so much. And what did he have to whine about? He was still alive, wasn't he? Considering who he was sitting in this car with, that alone was a miracle.

"You'll wait," Castiel said shortly. "That's what we'll be doing."

Paul's eyes shifted to Gail. "I'll bet that's not all you'll be doing."

Cas frowned, hard. "I could just kill you, instead. How would that be?"

Dean smirked. Attaboy, Cas.

Now it was Paul's turn to roll his eyes. "Fine, Castiel. I will be sitting in the hotel lobby in the morning."

"So will I," Henri said. "In fact, you can drop Paul at my house. We can keep each other company until the morning comes. I don't sleep much anymore these days."

Paul looked at Henri. "We don't sleep at all," he told the older man bluntly.

"Perfect," Henri said, unruffled. "I have a bottle of cognac and a deck of cards. I'm sure we can pass the time."

Paul thought about it for a moment, then gave Henri a brief nod. "OK. You're on."

Cas was relieved. He hadn't really known what to do with Paul. He didn't want Paul staying in his and Gail's room, and he couldn't stay in Sam and Dean's room, because they needed to sleep. And he didn't know if he should just allow Paul to roam around the city freely. He seemed a lot calmer than most of the Demons who were on the Earth, and he seemed sincere in wanting to help them take down the racist organization. But he was a Demon, and up until very recently, he had been in league with Lucifer. Who knew if he could be trusted? It was only Cas's feelings of guilt that prevented him from giving Paul back to Crowley right now. He HAD lied to Paul, and he had killed Paul's father, sending Paul on the wrong path to begin with. Cas was experiencing a crisis of conscience about that now, and that, along with a smattering of what Paul and Henri would have called "white guilt", was influencing his decision. But Henri's invitation had been a godsend, Cas thought with no irony at all. At least Paul would have a guardian for the evening.

They dropped Henri and Paul off at Henri's house, begging off an invitation from Henri to come inside for a drink.

"Some other time," Sam said to him. "I think we've had just about enough for today."

Henri nodded. He knew that Sam wasn't just talking about the alcohol. He could only imagine what had really taken place inside that bar. Then again, he didn't even want to try.

Gail had slid out of the front seat when they'd stopped the car, and as Sam got back in the front, she touched Henri's arm. "We'll get these guys," she said to him. "Don't you worry."

"I know, mon petite ange," Henri replied, smiling down at her.

Then Gail looked at Paul. She really didn't know what to make of him. Was he a bad guy? A good guy? Or somewhere in-between? She still wasn't sure exactly what had happened between him and Cas, but she and Cas could talk about it when they got back to the hotel.

"It was a pleasure getting to know you," Paul said to her, his lips twitching.

Gail was surprised. "We met before," she told him. "Don't you remember? In L.A. You told me that the woman can be the N-word of the world. And believe me, I'm finding that to be true with these Nazi guys. I'm just as eager to get them as you are. I'm not about to blow myself up, that's for sure."

Paul frowned. "I can't believe that's what they expect you to do."

Gail nodded. "I know. Me neither," she replied. "But to them, I'm just a mere woman. A dime a dozen. I'm eminently replaceable, I guess."

Paul let out a low whistle. "Maybe you do understand the struggle, then."

She smiled wryly. "Maybe I do, Paul. Maybe I do. But, 'We Shall Overcome', right? Goodnight, gentlemen." She made a fist and gestured with it, giving them a Black Power salute, then got in the back of the car and shut the door.

Dean drove off as Paul and Henri stared at the taillights, bemused.

"What a day," Henri said to the Demon.

Paul grinned. "Penny a point?"

The men laughed.

Sam and Dean went to their room, and Cas and Gail went to theirs. The brothers advised the couple that they would call in the morning when they were up and dressed. Or, if either Dean or Cas heard from Benoit or Etienne, they would communicate immediately.

Cas let himself and Gail into their room. "I need a shower," he said to her. "I'll see you in a moment." He went to the bureau and got a clean pair of shorts out of a drawer, then entered the bathroom and closed the door.

Gail undressed and got a nightshirt out of the bureau. She slipped it on over her head and then sat on the bed, waiting for Cas.

When he came out, he asked her for more details about her day at the clubhouse with Lise. She told him more about what they had been doing there, and then she scrambled off the bed to get her cell phone from her purse.

She showed him the pictures she'd taken of the wires. "I don't think these are really enough to prove anything, thought," she told Cas. "It just looks like a bunch of wires to me. And as far as what I overheard Jacqueline and Renee talking about, it's just my word against theirs. I tried to get into Benoit's office to see if there was anything incriminating in there, but it was locked."

Cas frowned. "I don't want you taking chances like that, Gail. These men are serious."

She looked at him. "I know they are. They want to blow me up, Cas."

"You know I will never let that happen," he said, putting his arms around her shoulders. He touched his forehead to hers. "You will not go there alone again. Now that we have been confirmed into the club, I'll make sure that I'm there with you at all times."

Gail kissed him on the cheek, and then she climbed off the bed with her cell phone in her hand, putting it back in her purse. Then she came back, taking both of his hands in hers.

"So, what happened at the bar?" she asked him softly.

Cas sighed. He described the scene in as much detail as he could bear, omitting only the crude comments the men had made about her. The horror mounted in her, and by the time he got to the moment they'd told him he had to bring an immigrant person into the bar and murder them in cold blood, Gail's heart sank. "Cas, no," she said quietly. She could only imagine how he'd felt at that moment. Thank God he'd had his idea about Paul. There was no way she was going to say anything negative about it now. Cas had been brilliant to think of that.

"But, why would he agree to help you?" Gail asked him. Paul had been ranting about Cas having lied to him when they'd gotten back from the catacombs, but of course, Gail had had no idea what they were talking about.

"Because he wants out of Hell, and I sort of promised him that if he helped us out in this situation, he could ascend," Cas said uncomfortably.

"What?!" Gail exclaimed. "But you don't have the authority to do that! Bobby doesn't even have the authority to do that anymore!"

"I know," Cas replied, tight-lipped. "But I was desperate. I have no idea what we're going to do about him once this mission is over. I guess we'll have to give him back to Crowley."

Gail thought about that. Well, wasn't that where Paul belonged? He was a Demon for a reason, wasn't he? "Why was Paul in Hell, Cas?" she asked her husband.

Castiel thought for a moment. "You know what? I have no clue," he told her.

Gail thought another moment, and then she said, "I have a crazy idea."

He gave her a half-smile. "That would be a normal idea, in our world."

She laughed merrily. "You're funny, sweetie." Cas smiled, pleased by her compliment. Then Gail continued, "We can ask Crowley to make Paul into a human."

Cas's smile faded. "I don't think that will work, Gail. He's not going to want to be mortal. And even if he agrees to that, when he dies, he will probably just go back to Hell, anyway. Your past misdeeds are not erased when there's a reassignment."

Gail sighed in frustration. She thought she'd been onto something there. "OK, let me think about it some more," she told him. "If he helps us defeat these guys, maybe we can go to bat for him with someone." But even as Gail was saying this, she wondered who that could possibly be.

Cas was looking troubled now, and she felt badly for him. What a messed-up day this had been, and the situation was bound to get worse before it got better. "Well, at least Paul got to be the sexiest, most handsome Angel ever, for a few minutes this afternoon," she teased.

Cas looked at her, and then he smiled slowly. "Do you really think so?" he asked her.

"Oh, now you're just fishing for a compliment," she countered.

He leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth. "Am I using the right bait?" he said. His lips were twitching now.

"It's a good start," Gail replied.

Cas put his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. He kissed her again, opening her mouth with his tongue. She responded enthusiastically, glad it was just him that she was kissing now. Although that had certainly been different.

They kissed for a minute or three, and then they were naked, and then they were making love. And she was very complimentary.

An hour or so later, they were taking a break, and they were talking some more about the current situation.

"You know, we never did find out where Sam and Dean got that car," Gail said.

Cas cocked an eyebrow. "With them, sometimes I find it's best not to ask," he responded dryly. "I hope they'll return the vehicle to wherever they 'borrowed' it from." He sighed. "Do you remember when a 'borrowed' vehicle was the worst moral dilemma we had to face?"

Gail nodded. "Yeah, I do, Cas. But I also remember the times that we went through far more terrible things, but we were apart. Isn't it nice to be able to talk to each other about our problems, and to comfort each other?"

He smiled. "Yes, it is," he told her. "And you have comforted me a great deal."

She was kissing his chest now, and he was smiling more widely. She knew he liked that. "Well, I think you need a bit more comforting," Gail said teasingly. She began to caress his body, and he reached for her, but she said, "Nope. Sorry. Not this time." She moved down his body. "This time it's all about you, for a change," she told him.

She took him in her mouth, and he gasped loudly. She made love to him for a couple of minutes, and then he was whimpering. "Please come here to me, Gail," he said, and she smiled. She stopped what she was doing and said, "I wanted it to be all about you."

"There is no me, without you," Cas said softly. "Come here, please."

She moved her body so that she was positioned at his mouth, and then she resumed. He put his hands on her hips, caressing her skin, and then he pulled her closer to him. He teased her with the tip of his tongue, and when she made a sound in her throat, he cried out her name. Then he made love to her with his mouth and his tongue, as he pushed forward into her mouth. She felt a wave of pleasure, and then so did he, and they both cried out at the same time.

He helped her down to lay beside him afterwards, and they cuddled for a while. Cas was kissing her softly. "Tomorrow, we will gather the evidence we need to have those people arrested, and then we will take the Tablet and go home," he said.

She nestled herself into his arms. "Sounds good to me," she said, smiling.

Benoit called Cas in the morning. "I heard about the initiation yesterday," Benoit said, and Cas could hear the smile in his voice. "Welcome to our ranks."

Cas frowned. "Merci," he said. "So, what's the plan going forward? After yesterday, I'm eager to see some more action." He made a face, and Gail sat up in bed beside him.

"Eat a good breakfast," Benoit said. "Soak up some of that alcohol. Then be in front of the hotel with Sam and Dean in an hour, and bring your wife, too. Etienne will pick the four of you up and bring you here to the clubhouse. We're having a meeting with all of the members, and I'll be giving all of you your assignments afterwards. You'll be very pleased."

Cas felt sick. "Fantastic," he said. "See you soon." He pushed End Call and looked at Gail.

She took a breath. "I'll get in the shower," she told him. "You call Sam and Dean, and have them meet us downstairs. Oh, and we'd better figure out what we're going to do about Henri, and Paul." Then she had an idea. "I'll tell you what. I'll run downstairs and see if they're in the lobby yet. If so, we'll get Henri some breakfast and then see if we can station them at a computer. If we can get some pictures while we're there, or some audio, maybe we can send it to them, and they can bring it to the police. What do you think?"

"That's a good idea," Cas said, impressed once again by her acumen. "And in the meantime, when we get there, we'll send Dean or Sam into Benoit's office, to try to get the Tablet," Cas said. "And this time, if they can't crack the safe, we'll resort to more drastic measures."

"Like what?" Gail asked him.

Cas smiled grimly. "They seem to be fond of explosives. Let's just leave it at that for now."

Gail hurried off to the shower.


	2. Tears

Chapter 2 - Tears

"Cas, can I see you in my office for a minute?" Benoit said to him.

"Excuse me, ladies," Cas said to Gail and Lise, and he rose from the table, kissing Gail's hand. They had just arrived at the clubhouse, and Cas and Gail had sat down with Lise, awaiting the arrival of all of the members for the general meeting.

Cas and Benoit walked down the hallway to the latter's office. "That was very genteel of you," Benoit remarked.

Cas shrugged. "When it comes to a woman, a little charm goes a long way."

They entered Benoit's office. "I'm glad to hear you say that," he told Cas, gesturing for him to sit down, "because I wanted to talk to you about the role we need your wife to play in the operation."

Cas gave Benoit a cold smile. "I already know what you're going to say."

Benoit looked at him, eyebrows raised. "You do?"

"Of course I do," Cas replied. "She told me that she and Lise were matching up wires, and the other girls were sewing. She thought that they were making Christmas decorations. Very cute."

"Well, that's what she was told," Benoit responded. "Until you were fully initiated, we needed to be discreet. But you know differently?"

"It doesn't take a genius to figure it out," Cas said, smirking. He sat back in his chair. "Wires? Sewing? They're making suicide vests. Four vests, four women. She still thinks she's helping with the Christmas party. It's a good thing you didn't put her on sewing detail; she probably would have forgotten to put the bombs in. I guess I love the girl, but she's not very domestic. And she's not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree either. Still, most of what I want her for doesn't involve domestic chores, or any thinking, if you know what I mean."

Benoit's forehead wrinkled. "Then why did you marry her?"

Cas continued to smile. "She's from a rich family," he replied. "All I had to do was put a ring on her finger and suffer through a half-hour ceremony. Now I'm her sole beneficiary, and her parents are both sick. And she's an only child. So, I did the math. A few months of hot sex, in exchange for millions of dollars when her parents die, and a generous trust fund to live on, in the meantime? I was willing to make the sacrifice."

Benoit stared at him. This guy was even more diabolical then Benoit could have dreamed. He was going to be worth his weight in gold. "So you're OK with her wearing a vest, then?"

Cas shrugged. "Of course. I have a black suit. There's nothing more tragic than becoming a widower on your honeymoon. Lucky I'll have her trust fund to console me." Oh, he would have been going to Hell for this speech alone, if he were a human. Thank God Gail couldn't hear him right now. They had worked out this story together, but he felt like a disgusting pig, talking like this. They had to allow Gail to obtain a vest, though, so that she could bring it to the police for proof.

They'd had a quick strategy meeting in Sam and Dean's room before leaving, and it was agreed that Paul and Henri would stay behind and monitor Sam's laptop. Cas and Dean would attempt to take whatever photos they could and try to record Benoit as he was giving them all details about what the group had planned. Sam would excuse himself to go to the bathroom and slip into Benoit's office, making one more attempt to break into the safe. And Gail would arrange to obtain the vest she was supposed to wear, under the pretext of trying it on to see how well she could disguise it under her coat. Once she had it on, she would discreetly pop over to the hotel room where Henri and Paul were, and then she would pop herself and Henri over to police headquarters. They would give the cops the evidence they had, and the location of the clubhouse. In the meantime, Paul would go over to the headquarters. If the guys were found out before the cops got there, Paul had agreed that he would fight with them against the Nazis. It was the ideal situation for Paul. He couldn't be killed, and he was being encouraged to kick some racist cracker ass. That was what he would call a good day. In fact, Paul was seriously contemplating just popping into the place and providing the spark that was needed for the fire. But Castiel had been very adamant about their needing to get the Tablet, as well. He had let Paul know in no uncertain terms that he would personally deliver Paul to Crowley if the Demon did anything that would prevent them from retrieving the Tablet. And it was fine with Paul if they got the damn thing. He was done with Lucifer. Paul had drunk the Kool-Aid for a while, but when Lucifer had left him behind in that house to be Castiel's bitch, Paul had concluded that Lucifer was just another flavour of the month, another selfish white guy who cared only about his own agenda, whatever the hell it was. No one really knew. So if Castiel and the Angels wanted to take the Devil down, Paul was fine with that. He wanted nothing further to do with him.

Cas had been thrilled when they'd decided on that plan, because it meant that Gail would be out of the clubhouse, and therefore safely out of harm's way, in case anything happened before the police got there. The only thing he hadn't been able to figure out was a plausible scenario in which his character would be all right with his wife wearing a suicide vest.

"I'm interchangeable, remember?" Gail had said to him. "We just have to concoct some kind of a story where my death would benefit you."

Dean snapped his fingers. "Nymphomaniac whose parents are millionaires, and own a chain of liquor stores," he said.

Everyone looked at him for a moment, and then Paul laughed, and Sam and Gail started to smile.

But Cas was puzzled. "What are you talking about?" he asked his friend.

So Dean explained the old joke, telling Cas that if he told Benoit that Gail was from a rich family and Cas stood to gain financially from her death, Benoit would probably buy that he would be OK with her blowing herself up.

"But that's horrible!" Cas had exclaimed, appalled at what Dean was suggesting.

Dean had shrugged. "Racist Cas is a horrible guy."

Paul nodded, smirking. "He killed the crap out of me."

Sam piped up, "He's a very scary guy."

Gail couldn't resist. "Yeah, and he always leaves the cap off the toothpaste."

The men all looked at her, and then they all laughed as she shrugged. "Sorry, sweetie," she said, putting her arms around Cas and smiling up at him. "I saw my opportunity, and I took it."

Cas returned her embrace and gave her a light kiss on the lips. He was smiling faintly at her joke, but he was not looking forward to acting like such a terrible person. Then again, considering the type of people they were dealing with, him behaving like that was to be expected, really.

So Cas told his vile story to Benoit, and they shook hands after their conversation. Then they left the office and came back to the main room, where everyone was now assembled. They all sat down when Benoit entered the room, and he stood at one end of the room as Cas re-took his seat beside Gail.

"Welcome, everyone," Benoit said to the group. "And, what a glorious day it is. Operation White Power is about to commence."

Everyone applauded, and a couple of the men cheered. When the commotion died down, Benoit continued, "It's taken us quite a while to rebuild, but I think we're well on our way. Tomorrow will mark the first blow for white rights that this city has seen in years.

"First off, we owe a huge debt of gratitude to our ladies," Benoit continued. "They have agreed to make the ultimate sacrifice for the Cause." He smiled at Renee, Jacqueline, Lise, and Gail. "I will ensure that your names are never forgotten. You will all be revered, because you will be the first."

Gail bit the insides of her cheeks. Oh, well, as long as she was "revered", then blowing herself to smithereens would be totally worth it. She stole a glance at Lise. The girl was sitting still, looking at Benoit with a relaxed, open expression. So much for thinking that Lise was an innocent dupe, Gail thought. Lise clearly knew what was going on here; otherwise, she would be flipping out. Gail couldn't figure the girl out. Was she so in love with Etienne that she was willing to blow herself to bits to prove it? And what kind of sense did that even make?

"So we will send the women out tomorrow, and while they're keeping the authorities well occupied while making a very definitive statement, I will ask certain people to go to certain destinations. We will also be making withdrawals from a few accounts at select banks around the city."

Etienne entered the room, carrying a box filled with manila envelopes. "Etienne will give you your instructions now," Benoit said. "Once he gives you your envelope, you can leave. Open it once you get home, memorize the instructions, and then burn it."

Etienne passed out the envelopes, and soon the room was empty except for the women, Benoit, Etienne, Kurt, Gregoire, Cas, Sam, and Dean.

Benoit approached where they were sitting. He smiled down at Jacqueline and Renee. "You ladies may leave now, too. Enjoy your day today, and I'll see you back here at dawn tomorrow," he said to them. The women rose from their chairs, and Benoit slipped his arm around Renee and grabbed her rear end. "Unless you'd like to come over later?" he said to her.

Jacqueline frowned. She grabbed Renee's arm and pulled her away from Benoit. "We'll be spending our remaining time together, thanks," she said to him. Renee threw Benoit an apologetic glance, but she allowed Jacqueline to lead her out of the room.

Benoit shrugged. "Oh, well. C'est la vie," he remarked. Then he looked at Sam, Dean and Cas. "We'll be taking advantage of all of your special talents tomorrow," he told them. "Dean, you'll be going with Gregoire downtown. There's a symposium at the Conference Centre at which a number of international businessmen are due to speak. You'll both be stationed across the street, and you'll pick off the delegates as they come out."

Dammit! Dean thought. That was the kind of thing they needed to get recorded for the police. But they could hardly do it now, with these guys looking straight at them. He'd had his phone recording Benoit's little speech earlier, but the guy hadn't really said anything definitive. Dean was starting to wonder if that had been on purpose. So far, they didn't have anything that could even come close to being considered as proof.

Benoit looked at Sam. "And Sam, you and Kurt will be going to several major tourist attractions, to plant explosives. The bombs will be timed to go off after hours, so the victims will mainly be the cleaners. The janitors. Non-whites, in other words." He smiled nastily.

Then he looked at Cas. "And you'll be very happy with your assignment, Cas," Benoit told him. "You and Etienne will be hosting a VIP tour of the catacombs tomorrow. The groundwork has already been done, and the security clearance has already been arranged. Etienne will be conducting the tour, as he always does. It'll be a small group, just six people. Three males, and three females. You're going to kill them all, and then you're going to help Etienne to take the bodies and dump them at the American Embassy. That will be our crowning achievement."

Cas's brow furrowed. "Why? What would be so special about these murders?"

Benoit and the other men were all smiling widely now. "Because it's not every day that you get to assassinate the President of the United States and his family."

Lucifer had Ethan, Kevin and Becky seated on chairs in the library of his mansion, and he was pacing back and forth in front of them. Such young, tender Angels. It was cute the way that Kevin and Ethan had popped in here, trying to apprehend him. Kevin had bravely charged Lucifer while Ethan had fired shots at the Devil. A few of the bullets had found their mark, and they had burned. Pentagram bullets! Lucifer had been impressed. Obviously, someone had passed along some knowledge to the younger generation. The trouble was, they hadn't thought it through. The pentagrams on the bullets were enough to cause him pain, but not enough to kill him, or even incapacitate him. Basically, all that Ethan was doing now was just pissing him off.

Lucifer had been just about to raise his arms and knock both young Angels into the wall when Becky showed up.

"Becky, no!" Kevin yelled, and he jumped in front of her. How gallant. How heroic. How stupid, Lucifer thought. He hadn't been planning to blast Becky, though. He'd been as surprised as anyone in the room when she'd just shown up like that out of the blue. Oh well, the more, the merrier. All he needed was one of them.

So Lucifer had subdued all three Angels and had Mark place them all in chairs. His disciple cuffed Ethan and Kevin with sigil handcuffs, but he only had the two pair that they had used on Cas and Gail.

Mark looked at his Master. "I don't have any more handcuffs. Can you conjure some rope, or some chains?" he asked Lucifer.

His boss gave him a withering look. "Our Ethan is head of the Law Enforcement division in Heaven, Mark. Do you think he might be packing, perhaps?" he said sardonically.

Mark checked Ethan's pockets and came out with a pair. "Et voila," Lucifer said dryly. Mark cuffed Becky to her chair. "Sorry, my dear," Lucifer said to her. "I just have to make sure you'll behave yourself." Becky stared at him, wide-eyed. This had been a really bad idea.

Mark straightened up, looking at Lucifer. Presumably, he was waiting for further instructions. Lucifer looked at him calmly. Suddenly, he thrust out both arms and Mark went crashing into the wall. He slid down to the floor, and Lucifer waved his arms again. Huge gashes appeared all over Mark's body, and he screamed in pain.

"'Fat Elvis', huh?" Lucifer roared. "Yes, that's right, Mark. I know all about what you've been thinking. I admit, I had to Google the reference, but I've been in a cage since the time of Creation! So you can cut - " slash - "me - " slash - "some slack!"

Lucifer stood over Mark now, his eyes glowing red. He'd been angry as hell to learn that that was what his underling had been thinking about him, and when he'd looked it up, he'd been furious. The fact that Mark had actually been right was of no significance to Lucifer whatsoever. That kind of insubordination would not be tolerated, even if it had just been in Mark's head.

"Now get up, so I can do it again," Lucifer said to Mark. As Mark struggled to his feet, Lucifer smirked. "Naaaah, I'm only screwing with you. But you're lucky I have such a delightful buffet of young Angel flesh in front of me right now. If I were bored, I might have to play with you a bit longer. Remind you of who the Boss really is around here. I do things on my own time, Mark, and in my own way. You'll do well to remember that. Now, get out."

Mark got to his feet as quickly as he could and left the room hurriedly. Lucifer turned and looked at his shocked young captives. He smiled insincerely. "Sorry," he said with a half-shrug. "But, he called me fat. He hurt my feelings. I'm still not sure if the 'Elvis' part is an insult. But I suppose you're all too young to know what I'm even talking about."

Nothing. Silence. Lucifer sighed. These Angels were obviously intimidated by him. That was the problem with being a superstar. People were too awed by your presence to be able to screw up the nerve to talk to you. Pity Castiel and Gail didn't have that problem.

Ethan was glaring at him, though, so Lucifer smiled at him. "What's the matter, Ethan?" he asked the young officer.

"You killed Linda," Ethan said to him.

Hallelujah. Now they were getting somewhere. "She would have killed me, if I'd given her the chance," Lucifer said in his most reasonable tone.

"Of course she would have killed you!" Kevin yelled. "You're the Devil!"

Lucifer shrugged. "True dat. But I've been around since Creation, and I'm part of the natural order. Sorry, Kev. That's just the way it goes."

"What do you mean, you're part of the natural order?" Kevin asked him. "What does that even mean?"

"Well, not to seem racist or anything, but do you understand the concept of yin and yang?" Lucifer asked him. "If you have Good, you have to have Bad. Otherwise, how would you know that Good was really...good?"

He looked at Becky. "Sorry, dear, I didn't mean to make your head hurt with that one," he smirked. She looked bewildered to him. In truth, she was simply terrified. What were they going to do?

Ethan was trying to call for backup now, but all he was getting was static.

"I meant what I said," Lucifer told them. "This is a private party. No Bobby, no Castiel. Aren't you sick of the older generation making all your decisions for you?" He paced back and forth in front of the three Angels, considering: Where to start? Which of them had the most potential to be exploited?

He looked at Kevin again. "Bummer about you and Becky. Too bad you crazy kids couldn't have worked it out. But Becky's got someone else in mind to give her most precious gift to, and he's taller than you, and a lot more experienced. Oh, and he's a human." Lucifer looked at Becky with an expression of mock puzzlement on his face. "Is such a thing even possible?" he asked the room in general. "I mean, I've heard of mixed marriages, but this is ridiculous. What would that even be?" He looked back at Kevin. "No wonder your poor dead Mommy didn't approve of Becky. Hey, but look on the bright side, Kevin. You're young, you're cute, and you don't have your mom helicoptering over you anymore. You could be a real player in Heaven."

"I don't want to be a player," Kevin said sullenly. He glanced sideways at Becky. "I just wanted a relationship, like Cas and Gail have. Yeah, I thought that Becky and I could have that. But I don't have any hard feelings."

"Liar," Lucifer said, pleasantly enough. "But I know what you really want, Kevin. Sadly enough, your Fondest Desire is to have your mother back, isn't it? Are you sure you never took Oedipus in school?"

Kevin said nothing. But Lucifer was right; Kevin hadn't gotten over his Mom being taken away from them like that. It was so unfair. She was all alone in the Netherworld, surrounded by characters like Luke. Dried-up old guys who thought of Linda as a geisha, or something. There was a lot more to her than that, and Kevin was bitterly sorry that he had not recognized that when she'd been around. Now, it was too late. Cas had informed him that there was no coming back from the Netherworld.

For his part, Lucifer was acting cool about it, but he couldn't produce the goods in this instance, and he knew it. He had no idea where Linda was, or why she would have just up and disappeared. When he'd snapped her neck like that, Lucifer had merely been trying to stop her from constantly jumping on him. In short, she had just pissed him off. He'd assumed that she would be back in Heaven making her son's life miserable by suppertime. He hadn't stolen her Grace, and he hadn't released her essence. Those were two of the ways that an Angel could be nullified. A neck-twisting like the one he'd given her, though painful, should have only sent her essence back to the Garden, and then they should have had her back. But that clearly hadn't happened. What was he missing, here? Lucifer didn't like being in the dark, and he knew he couldn't actually produce Kevin's mother, if Kevin went for the deal. But young Kevin didn't know that, did he?

He put his hand on Kevin's shoulder. "That was kind of a crap thing I did, killing your mom like that," he said to the young Angel. "I just kind of lost it there for a minute. But hey, anybody can lose their temper, right, Kev? Ask your buddy Cas about that, some time. Hell, ask the other Musketeer, the one who's not here, about it. He's actually struggling with that right now." Lucifer smirked. He may be in the dark about Linda, but Lucifer was well aware of the struggles that Chuck was currently having, and he found the situation pretty funny. Lucifer had been angry when he'd discovered that Rowena had left his camp, but in retrospect, he didn't really mind. He didn't need her, and she seemed to be a bit unpredictable. But he did enjoy what she was doing to Chuck right now, and the potential consequences could be very beneficial to Lucifer. Imagine Castiel walking innocently into the library in Heaven to talk to his Angel buddy Chuck, only to be stabbed in the heart by a letter opener, or whatever the hell it was that librarians used. Wouldn't that be sweet? Or, what if Gail were to walk in, and Chuck were to grab her, shoving her up against the bookshelves? Lucifer knew about that little bonus gift from Rowena, too, and it amused him. Lucifer had pretty much given up by now on the idea of using Gail to relieve him of his virginity. She was like a fresh spring flower and Castiel was the honeybee who kept buzzing around her. Lucifer had tried to swat him away, but the guy just - wouldn't - go. And now that the Angels were married, Castiel would be even worse. They'd made the sacred vows, and Gail belonged to Castiel now, at least, from Lucifer's point of view. He smirked inwardly, imagining Castiel catching Chuck in the act of trying to put those vows asunder. Hopefully, Chuck's will was in order.

"But, I digress," Lucifer continued, as if he had been speaking aloud. "Bottom line is, I can bring your mother back, Kevin. The Lord isn't the only one who giveth, you know. Let's make a deal, Kevin." He touched the young Prophet's forehead.

Cas and Dean were keeping the men busy in the main room, peppering them with questions.

Dean was pretending to be happy about the group's plans to hit so many locations all at once, but his stomach was rolling. They'd known these guys were bad news, but they'd had no idea. The President and his family? They had to be freaking kidding with this.

But they weren't. They were deadly serious, and they were well organized. Dean's horror mounted as Benoit gave them more details about the planning that had gone into hitting the various targets.

"We all passed the most stringent security checks that your country had to offer," Benoit told them proudly. "And I was pleased to see that all of you are clean, as well. We will make our statement, and then our organization will be restored to glory. There is great work ahead, gentlemen."

Dean felt like he was going to throw up any second. This was unbelievable. He looked helplessly at Cas. How the hell were they going to nail these guys?

Sam walked out of the hallway. He'd excused himself to go to the bathroom and, while Benoit was busy talking to the others, Sam had hurried to Benoit's office to give the safe one more try. But he hadn't been able to crack it, and he'd spent as long as he dared trying. So he came back out and gave his friends a subtle shake of the head, then joined him.

Cas pursed his lips. That settled it for him; if they had to blow the safe open, then that's what they would do. But they had to bring some conclusive evidence to the police first, to make sure this loathsome organization would be unable to follow through on their plans.

Gail tugged on Cas's blazer from behind him, making sure not to look at him as she did it. This was their prearranged signal. If Sam was unsuccessful in accessing the safe, they had determined that they were going to go to Plan B. Cas had wanted to get the Tablet first and have it safely tucked away in the bunker before taking these men on. But now, they had no Tablet, and still no definitive evidence for the police. So, Plan B it would have to be. And he hated Plan B. Gail had insisted on it, and it was a very smart plan. But it was going to kill Cas to do it. There weren't enough bouquets of flowers in the world to make up for what he was supposed to do next.

Cas turned to her. "Go with Lise and get your vest," he ordered Gail. "I want to make sure you know how to hide it properly."

Gail made her forehead wrinkle. "Vest? What vest?" she said to him.

Cas heaved a big, theatrical sigh. "You're kidding me," he said sharply. "Are you really that stupid?" He grabbed her by the arm. "Lise, take us to where you're keeping the vests. I want to see if she can hide hers under her coat. I may have to help her figure out how to hide it from detection." He looked back at the men. "I'll be right back."

Lise looked at Etienne. "Yes, yes, go ahead," he told her impatiently. If Cas was that concerned, they'd better make sure that Gail was able to be discreet with her vest. Everything was timed down to the minute; it would not do for her to be found out too early. It was a good thing Cas was on top of the situation. Etienne had the feeling there wasn't too much Cas was not on top of. He still didn't like the guy, but Etienne was glad it was Cas who was going to help him assassinate the President and his family. Cas could take care of the Secret Service guards with his knife, and then the family would be easy prey.

Cas pulled Gail by the arm as they followed Lise, who led them through the kitchen and down the steps to the basement. There were four vests on hangers in a wardrobe there, and Lise was just about to grab Gail's for her when she heard more footsteps coming down the stairs. She turned around to see Etienne.

"I thought I'd come down and see how it looks on, too," Etienne told them casually. In truth, he'd wanted to make sure that Cas wasn't going to back down. The guy may be a stone-cold killer, but he was also a newlywed husband who seemed very protective of his little wife. Benoit had advised that Cas was more than OK with it, but Etienne knew that it was a pretty daunting sight, to see a suicide vest on your woman. When Benoit had first proposed it for Lise, Etienne had thought that he was all right with it. But then, when he'd had her model it for him, Etienne had lost his nerve. He knew he'd probably never find another girl as sweetly submissive as Lise, and Etienne wanted a woman at home to cater to his needs. And he supposed he did love her, really, as long as she didn't nag him too much. So he had told her on that day that he was going to alter her vest so that the bomb would be a dud, but they would keep that fact between just the two of them. So they had crept down here last night, and Etienne had removed the bomb from Lise's vest and disarmed it. But he only did that for hers, and the vests were labelled so they would know whose was whose.

Damn it, Cas thought, trying to keep his face expressionless. Now that Etienne was here, he would really have to be convincing. He glanced at Gail, and they communicated non-verbally. I'm so sorry, my love, his eyes said to her. Whatever it takes, Cas, hers said to him.

Lise was very upset. She couldn't believe that Cas was going to allow Gail to just blow herself up like this. She'd thought that she and Gail were going to be such good friends. Poor Gail. Lise was lucky; at least Etienne had loved her enough to fix her vest. But that had to be a secret, of course.

Lise took the vest off the hanger and helped Gail on with it.

"Don't buckle it," Etienne warned her. "Once you snap it on, you can't take it off without detonating it. But this'll give us an idea of how well it'll fit under her coat," he added, looking at Cas.

Here we go, Gail thought. She started to sniffle, and she made tears come to her eyes. She looked at Cas with a pleading expression. "I don't want to do this, Cas," she whined. "Please don't make me do this."

"We already talked about it," Cas said harshly. "You're not going to change your mind on us now. The plans have already been made. The world doesn't revolve around you, you know."

"But Cas, I don't want to die!" Gail wailed. She was crying now. "Haven't we been happy? Haven't I been good to you?"

He grabbed the front of her coat with both hands, buttoning it up over the vest. "It's for the Cause, Gail. You agreed to make the sacrifice."

"Well, I've changed my mind!" she said, raising her voice. "And I notice YOU'RE not sacrificing anything! Well, anything besides ME, that is!"

Cas slapped her across the face. "You will do as I say!" he shouted. Then he relaxed his grip on her coat so that she could pull away from him. Gail was sobbing now, and she touched her cheek where he had hit her. She wheeled around and ran up the stairs.

Cas's hand was tingling. He had slapped her hard, aware that Etienne was watching. He'd been hoping that Lise would be their only witness; if that had been the case, he would have stepped in front of Lise and slapped his own hand, instead. He had seen the actors on the set of Supernatural do that, sometimes. It looked and sounded convincing, but you weren't actually hitting the person at all. But Etienne had been watching intently, and they had really needed to convince him. So, God help him, Cas had done it. It was taking everything he had not to burst into tears right now. Gail had told him that that was the only way she could think of to get out of the place with the vest still on her.

She ran up the stairs, through the kitchen, and outside the back door. Then she vanished.

Gail appeared in the hotel room, startling Henri.

"What the hell's going on?" Paul demanded. "We've got jack! The stuff Dean sent us wasn't evidence!"

"I know," Gail acknowledged. "They're very cagey. But I've got something now." She opened her coat and showed them the vest. "I'll pop you over to the police station, Henri. We'll give them this stupid thing, and the location of the clubhouse. Paul is going to pop over there in case the guys need backup. They're going to be pretty upset when they find out that I'm gone, but Cas is going to play along and act really mad that I've taken off." She rubbed her cheek gingerly. "He's very convincing," she added, making a face.

"Did he do that?" Henri asked her.

Gail nodded. "Yeah, but he had to. We'd better wrap this up, though, before he dies of guilt. As it is, I think I can look forward to receiving flowers and chocolates every day for the foreseeable future," she joked grimly. She knew that Cas would be beating himself up over what he had done. But they'd agreed: Whatever it took.

"Then how are you going to get the Tablet?" Paul wanted to know. "Once the cops get there, Castiel's gonna have to get Sam and Dean out, somehow."

"They're going to blow the safe," Gail replied. "Once I call him on Angel Radio to let him know that the cops are on their way, they're going to take the Tablet, and then take off. That's where you come in. You have to make sure no one escapes, so they can all be arrested." She gave him the location of the clubhouse. "Whatever it takes, Paul."

"No problem," Paul said with a cold smile. "I can definitely take care of that."

Gail didn't bother asking him any questions. Frankly, she didn't care what he would have to do to make that happen. Those people were vile, disgusting creatures, and they had to be put away. "Let's go, Henri," she said. She took his hand and winked him out of the room. A moment later, Paul winked himself out, too.

Lise felt awful now. Cas had laid down the law, and poor Gail had run off in tears. Lise could definitely relate to that. But at least when Etienne corrected her, they had always been in private. How humiliated her friend must be feeling right now.

"I'll go talk to her," Lise said to the men. "I'm sure she just needs a moment to calm down."

Cas wanted to give Gail a bit more lead time before the alarm was raised, so he frowned and said, "No. I don't want you to do that. I want her to grow up, and I want her to come back here on her own. And then, she is going to apologize, or she'll get more of the same. Or worse."

Etienne smiled. This guy was impressive, he had to admit. But Lise was agitated. "Please, Cas. Let me get her and bring her back here. S'il vous plait." Lise didn't want Cas to beat Gail any more. Wasn't it bad enough that he expected her to blow herself up tomorrow?

"No, let's do what Cas said," Etienne said casually. He was smirking now. It would serve the little bitch right. Lise knew better than to talk like that. If Cas wanted to give his wife a little instruction, Etienne wasn't about to stand in his way. "She's going to have to learn her place," he added.

Lise's temper rose now. "What is she going to have to learn, Etienne? She'll be dead tomorrow!" she exclaimed.

Etienne's hands curled into fists. How dare she talk to him that way? If he didn't correct her now, Cas was going to think he was a pussy. So Etienne punched Lise in the face, knocking her into the wardrobe where the vests were hanging.

Cas's blood was boiling. His hand itched for his blade. Whatever it takes, he repeated to himself. That was their mantra now. He couldn't break character yet, or the entire plan would be blown. But his stomach hurt, and so did his heart.

Lise got to her feet and faced Etienne with a strange sort of dignity. Suddenly, she saw the two of them years from now, and nothing about their relationship had changed. He was still overbearing, and she was still obedient. Married or not, children or no children, what did it matter? Lise was going to end up like her mother; a bitter, middle-aged woman who never left the house, waiting for her husband to come home from work just so she could wait on him, hand and foot. No wonder Lise had grown up thinking that was the natural order of things. But she'd gotten out of the house she'd been raised in, and Lise had honestly thought that her life was going to be different. And it WAS different. It was worse. Lise's father didn't even beat her mother. Then again, he didn't have to. His wife was just naturally afraid of him. So his daughter had grown up feeling the same way, and thinking that was a normal way to be. Lise had thought that she was rebelling against her father when she'd left the house, but in reality, she had just been moving in with another version of her father, a worse one. But it was too late now; at least, for Lise, it was. Now she was happy that she'd done what she'd just done. Maybe Gail could have a second chance. But Lise was finished.

"Desole, Etienne," Lise said in a low voice, and her boyfriend nodded. Damn right she should be sorry.

Lise turned away from the men and headed towards the stairs. She climbed the steps slowly as they followed her up to the kitchen. The men rejoined Benoit and the others as Lise kept on going down the hallway towards the washroom.

"Where's Gail?" Benoit asked Cas.

"She got a little bit...hysterical, so I had to discipline her," Cas answered him. He really hoped they could stop by a bar before they left Paris, so that he could wash the horrible taste of the vile things he was saying out of his mouth. Then again, maybe he should just wait until they got back to the bunker. Sam and Dean still had that bar with the never-ending bottles of liquor he had given them. That was probably what it would take, too. Cas would have to cuddle Gail and apologize to her every night, for the rest of their existence. He wondered how she and Henri were doing at the police station. He hoped she would send him the message that the police were on their way very soon.

Henri and Gail walked into the police station. He was carrying Sam's laptop in its case, and she had her coat buttoned up, at least for the moment. Once they had told their story and showed the cops the pictures and audio they had, she would open her coat and reveal the vest. That would be the clincher, she was sure. They were aware that their other "evidence" was weak, but how could the police not go over there to investigate a club that was making suicide vests?

"Bonjour, Henri." A dark-haired man with bushy eyebrows and a penetrating gaze approached them. "We haven't seen you for a while. How are you?"

"I'm well, Detective Nadeau," Henri told the man. "Actually, I'm very well. It took years, but we finally have the evidence to put Les Rebelles Blancs away for good."

The detective raised his eyebrows. "Really, Henri? We've been through this before."

"It's different this time," Henri told him. "This young lady and her husband and their friends have been helping me."

Detective Nadeau looked at Gail. OK, this WAS different. He extended his hand to her. "And, you are..."

"Gail," she said, shaking his hand. "Can we sit down and we'll show you what we've got, Detective?"

Nadeau sighed. But it was a slow day; he might as well find out what this woman brought to the table, just on the off chance that they might have something legitimate. So he led them to his desk. Henri pulled a chair out for Gail and waited until she sat down, then he sat himself.

She smiled. "Are you related to my husband, by any chance?" she asked Henri.

"They're called manners," he said softly. "Too many of our younger generation seem to have forgotten them."

"Oh please, do me a favour and tell Sam and Dean that, next time you see them," she said. "They're always teasing Cas about it."

Henri put the laptop on the desk. "Let me show you what we were able to get," he said to the detective. He showed the officer the pictures Gail had taken and played him the audio part of Benoit's speech that Dean had managed to capture in the clubhouse.

Detective Nadeau looked and listened very carefully. He had to admit, this was more than what Henri usually came in with. But it wasn't proof of anything. It was certainly not enough for them to just barge into the place, which was what these two were asking the police to do. He told them so now.

Gail was disappointed, but she wasn't particularly surprised. The wires were just wires, and Benoit hadn't mentioned any potential crimes in his speech. But that wasn't all they had to show him.

"I'm sorry, Henri, Miss," Nadeau said, shaking his head. "What you have shown me is not evidence of any crimes. It's pure speculation on your part."

Henri let out a frustrated breath. Gail put a hand on his arm, and then she stood from her chair and opened her coat, showing the detective the vest she was wearing.

"Does this look like speculation to you?" she said.

The officer got to his feet immediately, shocked by the sight. He looked at Henri, who remained seated, looking calmly at the detective.

Nadeau thought about drawing his weapon, but he didn't want to panic this woman. Was that a real suicide vest she was wearing, or just a desperate ploy for attention? Who was this woman, anyway, and how had Henri gotten her involved in his cause? Why would Henri allow her to show up here with that thing on? Had he finally lost his mind?

"Take it easy, Mademoiselle," the officer said to Gail, raising his hands in supplication.

Crap, Gail thought. He thought she was a whacko. "I'm not crazy," she told him, "and I'm not here to threaten anyone. I brought this from their clubhouse. They plan to have us wear these tomorrow, to a synagogue, and a mosque, and a Baptist church, and blow ourselves up! I brought this as evidence."

Nadeau's eyebrows shot up. "Really? They gave that to you?" he said, curious. Now this was something they could use, if it was authentic.

"Yes, and I'm here to give it to you, as evidence," Gail insisted. She started to take her coat off. There. Now they had this guy's attention.

The detective was looking at her. Henri was rising to help her off with her coat, and Nadeau could see now that the vest was just sitting loosely on her shoulders. It didn't appear as if she were going to attempt to detonate it, or if she even had the intent to do so. His pulse quickened. Had Henri been right about that organization this whole time?

Detective Nadeau walked slowly around his desk. "Do you mind if I take a look at that?" he asked her.

"No, of course not. That's why we brought it," Gail replied. She began to take it off, but he said, "Please don't. I want to be very careful, here." Nadeau looked up from the vest. "Whalen! Can you come over here for a moment?" he called out.

Another officer came over to where Gail was standing, and the two men peered intently at the vest. "What do you think?" Nadeau asked the other man. "Is it genuine?"

Officer Whalen looked at Gail, reaching out his hand towards the vest. "Do you mind?" he asked her.

"No, do whatever you have to do," she said.

Whalen touched the vest, examining the wiring. Then he looked up at his fellow officer. "It's a dud," he said.

Gail's jaw dropped open. What? She looked at Henri, then back at the officer. "What do you mean?" she said sharply.

"I mean, it's a dud," Officer Whalen said to her. "It's not a suicide vest. It's only made up to look like one. There's no actual bomb in it."

Now Gail's eyes grew wide. No. It couldn't be! The white supremacists were deadly serious about their intentions; she was sure of it. Had Lise altered the vest somehow? Did the girl know it was a fake? "Are you sure?" she asked Officer Whalen.

"I'm a munitions expert," he replied. He gave Detective Nadeau an exasperated look and retreated to his own desk. Everyone here at the station knew about Henri. He'd been coming in here for years, trying to convince anyone who would listen that Les Rebelles Blancs was experiencing a renaissance, and that they were a danger to the community. But he had never had any proof, and eventually, the officers had all dismissed him as a crackpot. Detective Nadeau had continued to talk to Henri every time he came in, but more out of sympathy than anything else. After his first couple of visits, Nadeau had done a bit of investigation on the man, and he had found out what had happened to Henri's grandmother during the War. He could certainly understand why Henri was so obsessed with Les Rebelles Blancs. But he'd tried to tell Henri that the organization had been disbanded for several decades now, and there was no evidence to suggest that the club was even in existence any more, let alone planning any nefarious activities. Henri had persisted, and Detective Nadeau had seen him every time he'd come in, mainly because he felt sorry for the poor guy. That was a terrible thing that had happened in his family; no wonder he had such a vendetta against those bastards. But he couldn't expect them to just go around arresting people on mere suspicion and speculation. Nadeau had run the records of a few of the men that Henri had named as being involved, just to see, but they had been clean as a whistle.

So, what was Henri trying to pull now? Was he so obsessed with this imaginary Nazi organization that he had been reduced to creating something like this alleged "suicide vest" just to get their attention? And what about this woman, and the men that Henri claimed had infiltrated the organization? If those men even existed, that was. But the woman was clearly real.

"Who are you, and why are you here with him?" the detective asked Gail suspiciously.

"I'm a friend of Henri's, and I'm here to help him," Gail responded.

"Well, this isn't the way to do it," the officer rebuked her. "It doesn't exactly help your credibility when you come walking in here with something like that on you." Nadeau looked at Henri. "You should be ashamed of yourself," he said to him. "We have real crimes to investigate here, and you're wasting my time. Please leave."

Gail's heart sank. Crap. She was just about to ask the detective what sort of evidence would be enough to convince him when Henri rose slowly from his chair. She could see that he was trembling with rage now. "You will be sorry if you send us away," Henri said to the police officer. "These men are going to kill countless people, and their deaths will all be on your head." His voice rose. "They're going to kill the President of the United States!"

Well, that was certainly a new wrinkle. "Is that so?" Detective Nadeau said calmly. "With all of that security he's got around him?"

"They've got it all planned out!" Henri exclaimed. "Please, you have to believe us!"

Nadeau looked at Gail. "You'd better take him home, Miss. And if you ever walk in here with anything that looks like a bomb again, I'll have to arrest you."

Henri laughed bitterly. "So you'll arrest an Angel, but you're going to let those Nazis line the streets with our blood?"

Oh, double crap, Gail thought. Henri was really losing it now. She'd better get him out of here, before he was telling the detective that one of their other helpers was a Demon. Could she wink out of a straitjacket?

"Let's go, Henri," she said, taking him by the arm. She looked at Detective Nadeau. "I'm sorry we bothered you," she told him. Then she pulled Henri towards the door, and once they were outside the building, she hustled him around the corner and winked them back to the hotel room.

Once they were there, Gail sent a brief message to Cas on their frequency, telling him to hold character. The police would not be coming. She would be back in a minute, they would have to do their song and dance, and then she would explain, once they got out of there. She began to take the vest off, and then she realized that since she had to go back to the clubhouse, she had better keep it on, until they figured out just what in the hell was going on.

Henri sat down heavily at the table, putting his head in his hands. He couldn't believe what had just happened. What were they going to do now?

Gail put her hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Henri. I don't know what the hell's going on, either. But, we'll figure something out. I swear we will. But I have to pop over to the clubhouse now. We'll be back in a few minutes, and then we'll all brainstorm. Okay?"

He nodded, but he didn't raise his head. Henri couldn't stand for her to look at him right now. She was trying so hard to help him, and now she had seen that the police thought that he was crazy. He felt so humiliated.

Gail popped out of the hotel room and appeared outside the clubhouse. Paul was standing in the shadows beside the building. "What the hell are you doing here?" he hissed at her.

"Change of plan," she told him. "Can you please go back to Sam and Dean's hotel room? Henri's there now. Wait for us, and I'll explain when we get back. Or, Henri will tell you, if he's up to it."

He looked at her. "Are the cops coming?"

She let out a frustrated breath. "I don't have time to talk right now. Please, just go back to the hotel, and we'll see you in a minute."

He grumbled some comment about her having been married to Castiel for too long, but he vanished.

Gail took a deep breath, preparing herself for what she was going to have to do now. She walked into the clubhouse, and the men all stared at her.

"I'm sorry," she said to them.

"Where were you?" Cas said angrily.

"I just went outside for a while, to get some air," she replied in a subdued tone. She walked over to where he stood and looked up at him. "I'm sorry, Cas. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. I just panicked. I'll do my duty tomorrow, I promise. I know how important the Cause is."

Cas frowned. "All right, then. I forgive you," he said to her. He looked at Benoit. "I apologize for my wife. She's a little impulsive sometimes. But you don't have to worry, Benoit. She will be here tomorrow, and she will do as she's told. Right?" he said sharply, looking down at Gail.

"Yes, I will," she said quickly. "Of course I will. I'm very sorry, Benoit."

"That's all right, my dear," he said magnanimously. He knew that women got emotional at times, but she was back now, and under her husband's thumb, and that was all that mattered. "So we'll see you all back here tomorrow at dawn, as discussed. Can Etienne drop you somewhere?"

"No, we'll make our own way," Cas told him.

"Where are you going?" Benoit asked him.

Cas smiled coldly. "I don't believe that's any of your business. We will be here tomorrow as arranged, and we will dedicate ourselves to the Cause. But until then, my time is my own."

Benoit stared at him for a moment, then said, "OK, Cas, OK. Relax, mon ami. We'll see all of you tomorrow morning, then."

Cas grabbed Gail by the hand and pulled her towards the door, with Sam and Dean following. Once they got outside, he said quietly, "Where's Paul?"

"I sent him back to the hotel," Gail answered, just as quietly.

The four of them walked down the street and around the corner. They looked around, but they saw no one, so Cas and Gail took Sam and Dean by the hands and winked them back to the hotel room.

As soon as they arrived, Dean strode right over to the mini-fridge. "Anybody else for a drink?" he said.

"Probably everyone," Gail sighed. "Keep 'em coming, Dean."

Cas was staring at her. He opened his arms. "Can I please hold you, Gail?" he said. She walked into his arms. "I'm so sorry," Cas said softly. "I'm so very, very sorry, Gail." He kissed her gently on the forehead. Then he pulled out of the embrace and looked at her face. "Your poor cheek. It's still red." He touched the spot where he'd hit her. "I'm so sorry, Gail," he said again. "Do you think you can ever forgive me?"

"Yes, of course I can, Cas," she said to him. "I told you to do it, didn't I? That was the only way we COULD do it. But I think my cheek's red because I'm embarrassed. The cops think we're nuts." She undid her coat and shrugged off the vest. "This thing's not even real!" she exclaimed, thrusting it towards Cas. "The police told us it only looks like a suicide vest. But it's a fake!"

"What?!" Sam exclaimed.

Henri had been avoiding their eyes, but now he looked up from the table. "Oui. The police told us there's no bomb. And then they told us to get out."

Silence in the room. Cas took the vest from Gail's outstretched hand, looking closely at it. "Why on earth would they have told us it's a suicide vest, then?" he mused aloud. No one had an answer for that. He turned it over in his hands. Then he noticed that there was a letter marked in black ink on the inside of the vest. The letter "L". "Lise," he murmured.

Dean handed Cas a glass with a generous shot of whiskey in it. "Here, hand this to Henri," Dean ordered Cas. "He looks like he could use it."

Cas handed the glass to Henri, who accepted it gratefully. "Merci," he said, downing half of the glass in one swallow. He took a deep breath. That did feel slightly better. What a shock that had been.

"Hey! Where's mine?" Paul asked Dean. Dean rolled his eyes, pouring another shot. Great. Now he was bartending for a Demon.

"I think this vest belongs to Lise," Cas said speculatively. "I wonder..."

"What? What do you wonder?" Dean asked him while pouring a shot for Sam.

"Maybe she gave Gail the wrong vest," Cas said to his friend.

"What are you trying to say, Cas?" Gail asked him, astonished. "Are you trying to say that her vest was a fake?"

"That's exactly what I'm trying to say," Cas said angrily. "Etienne is going to send her out there with a fake vest. Meanwhile, the other women are expected to sacrifice themselves, yet his own girlfriend will stay alive!"

Sam snorted in derision. "I wouldn't put it past the little twerp. What a hypocrite."

"Great," Paul said. "So she gives Gail the wrong vest, and now the cops think you guys were making the whole thing up."

Henri set his glass down on the table with a bang. "I thought we had them, finally!" he exclaimed. "What are we going to do?"

"I'm sure we can think of something," Sam said. "We just have to put our minds to it."

Cas sat down on Dean's bed. "And we still have to get the Tablet, too," he said. "Maybe I should just pop you or Sam over there with me, tonight. Then we can thoroughly search the place, and if we have to, we can blow the safe open. I'll have you grab it, Dean, and then I can wink us over to the bunker to store it with the others."

"But what about their plans for tomorrow?" Henri said to him, agitated.

Cas made a face. He didn't know. If the police would not believe them, what could they do to bring the group to justice? The instant Benoit discovered that the safe was blown open, they would be the suspects, Cas was sure. And if the organization found out that they were not who they represented themselves to be, they would never be able to get any credible evidence against the group, nor stop them from implementing Operation White Power. By the time the authorities were to react to what the racist group had done, it would be too late. Even if Cas, Dean, Sam and Gail weren't involved in the operation, the group would go ahead with their plans. The loss of life would be considerable, and it would be unacceptable.

Dean poured Cas a shot, nudging him. His Angel friend took the glass, but he just sat there holding it, lost in thought. What could they do to make sure that both goals were achieved?

"If you're not going to drink that, give it here," Paul said to Cas. Cas continued to stare off into space, so Paul raised his voice. "Hey! Tyson!" He gestured for the glass.

Cas lifted his head slowly to look at Paul. "What?" he said dazedly. "What did you call me?"

Sam and Dean exchanged glances. Goodbye, Paul. Dean poured himself another shot in preparation for the show that he was sure was about to commence.

"Tyson," Paul repeated. "You know who that is, don't you?"

But Cas just hung his head, and tears sprang to his eyes. Of course he knew who that was, and he understood that Paul thought he was being funny. But it was not the slightest bit amusing to Cas.

"Wow," Sam said. "Why don't you just take a blade and cut him, instead?"

"Friggin' Demons," Dean growled.

Gail rushed over to Paul and looked him in the face. "I was trying to help Cas think of a way to keep you out of Hell," she said sharply. "But now, I'm thinking I should just use my private frequency to call Crowley, and he can come here and get you right now. That's right. I'm an Original too, and if I had my blade at this particular moment, you'd look like Swiss cheese. So unless you have something constructive to add, you'll keep your fat mouth shut."

She walked back to where Dean stood, and she looked at him. "Give me one of those, will you?" Gail said to him, gesturing to the bottle. He gave her his drink, and she knocked it back. Then Dean and Sam both high-fived her. "That was awesome," Sam told her, grinning.

Cas was still sitting with his head down. He had appreciated her upbraiding Paul like that, and under other circumstances, he probably would have found it amusing. But the tears were pooled in his eyes now, and he didn't know what to do with his feelings of guilt and shame. He had actually struck Gail. Even in his darkest Demon days, he had never done anything as bad as that.

Gail handed the glass back to Dean and she sat down beside Cas on the bed. She kissed him softly on the cheek, putting her arms around him. "Don't," she said softly. "It's OK, Cas. It's OK, sweetie."

His arm circled around her waist, and then he looked at her. "How can I ever make this up to you?" he said quietly, his voice trembling.

Gail's lips twitched. "I'll think of something. Maybe I'll make you do all the dishes by hand, after our big Christmas feast. And I'll expect the biggest gift under the tree, of course."

Cas's expression softened, but he was still frowning. "I don't know how you can even joke about this," he said to her.

"I'll tell you how," she responded. She pulled his head towards hers until their foreheads were touching. "Because I know you would never ever do anything like that for real. Because I love you so very, very much. And, just because. That's how." She kissed him on the forehead with a loud smack and wiped the tears from his cheeks with her thumbs. "Now let's put it behind us," she continued. "Remember our motto: Whatever it takes. Even if you have to punch me right in the face, you'll do it, and we'll deal with the consequences later."

"I'll do no such thing," Castiel said, horrified. "I would never...I could never..."He lost his words, because the idea was too shocking, too ridiculous to even contemplate. He would cut his own arm off at the shoulder, first.

"I'll do it, if I really have to," Dean piped up. "I'd be willing to make the sacrifice for the greater good."

They all looked at Dean. His lips were twitching furiously. This whole thing had been getting a little too dramatic for Dean, and he'd wanted to lighten the mood before Cas committed hari-kari, or something. Damn Demons.

"That's it, then. No turkey for you at Christmas," Gail teased Dean. She gave Cas a smile, happy to see that his lips were twitching now, too. She got up and gave Dean a kiss on the cheek. "Smart-ass," she said to him, smiling.

"Sorry for the bad language, Henri," Sam said, grinning, and Gail high-fived him again. Then she nudged Dean. "I could still go to our room and get my blade, you know."

He smiled. "Yeah, I know," he told her. Then he hugged her impulsively. She returned his embrace, then sat back down beside Cas, taking his hand. He squeezed her hand, then looked gratefully at Dean.

"See, that's how to behave," Henri admonished Paul.

Paul looked at him. He had developed a grudging respect for the old guy. They had sat up most of the night last night talking about a variety of subjects, and Paul had to admit that Henry really did understand the struggle. But while Paul had spent the vast majority of his existence being bitter about it, thinking dark thoughts of revenge and retribution, Henri had dedicated his life to the eradication of the type of racism that Les Rebelles Blancs practiced. In truth, neither of them had ended up making any appreciable difference, at least, not yet. But the ninth inning was coming up, and Henri still had one more at bat. Paul wanted to help him take those racist bastards down. Maybe then he could feel like his whole miserable existence had some worth.

So Paul said nothing in response. But he looked at the others. "Anybody have any ideas as to how we're gonna stop those guys?" he asked aloud. "We can't have them killing the President; I would have voted for him, if I'd still been alive."

"Well, it would be pretty hard to do otherwise," Sam joked. "I've heard of absentee ballots, but this is ridiculous."

Paul smirked. "I tried to tell Crowley we should be entitled to get time off work to vote, but he didn't seem to care."

"Maybe you guys should unionize," Gail said. "Jimmy Hoffa's probably down there, isn't he?"

Sam laughed, and Paul's smile turned genuine. The more he saw of Gail, the more he was starting to like her. She was a spunky little thing, and from what he could see, not too much seemed to faze her. She was obviously more than willing to make sacrifices in order to do the right thing, and she seemed to have all these men toeing the line. Castiel obviously doted on her, and Paul was beginning to see why. She was a quality woman. Rumours in Hell had it that Crowley was a little sweet on her, too. Paul had always thought of Castiel as an arrogant, entitled ass, and he still thought that assessment might have some merit. But Paul had never seen Castiel act like he acted when he was around her. Around Gail, the guy was mush. Wonders never ceased.

But Dean was getting impatient now. The clock was ticking, and they hadn't been able to come up with a single idea. He was thinking furiously. Cas was talking about popping in here and popping out there, but these were human beings they were dealing with. Rotten, disgusting human beings, but humans nonetheless. When you were dealing with humans in the real world, you had to think like humans in the real world. If they couldn't have those guys arrested, they had to do the next best thing, which was to derail their plans.

"Sammy, look up the American Embassy," Dean said to his brother. Sam went to the table and sat down across Henri, opening his laptop. "Got it," he said a moment later.

"Read me the number," Dean said, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. He punched in the number Sam had given him, then told the woman who answered that if the President and his family went to the catacombs, they would be killed. Then he hung up and asked Sam for the numbers of a couple of newspapers and TV stations. He called each one, telling them about the group's plans to assassinate the President.

"What makes you think they'll believe you?" Henri asked Dean after he'd hung up from the last call.

"Nine-eleven," Dean replied succinctly.

Henri looked puzzled, but Sam was nodding. "Dean's right," Sam said. "If there's any kind of a threat to the President, they'll probably just cancel the outing until they can check it out. We should put the news on and see if anything is reported. That was brilliant, Dean."

Dean shrugged. "So there's that, anyway. It's not gonna help us with the other stuff, but it's a start." He grabbed the remote and found a local news station. The reporters were speaking only in French, but Henri could translate for them if need be.

They watched for a while, and then Henri advised that the anchorman was saying that there was a breaking news story just coming in. They all stopped talking, looking at the TV screen.

But the President was not mentioned. Instead, they went to a live shot of a downtown Metro station. A female reporter was talking into a microphone with a concerned look on her face.

"Damn it," Dean said, but Henri held up a hand. "Hold it, Dean. I need to hear this," Henri said.

They were all silent for a moment, and then Henri gasped.

"What's wrong?" Gail asked him.

"She's talking about a woman who is threatening to commit suicide at the Metro station there," Henri replied.

"Not that that doesn't suck, but that's not exactly what we were looking to hear," Dean remarked.

"The woman appears to be wearing a suicide vest," Henri added. Cas looked at him sharply, then he looked back at the TV screen.

The camera panned over to take a shot of the entrance to the station. There was a young blonde woman standing in front of the gate, screaming in French. It was Lise.

"She's telling them not to come any closer," Cas said, "or she'll blow herself up."

Gail was appalled. "What the hell, Cas?" she exclaimed. "What's she doing?"

"I think she must have snapped," Cas replied. "She's saying that she just can't take it anymore."

"What's wrong with her eye?" Gail asked.

Cas told them all about Etienne having punched Lise in the face earlier, and the context of their conversation.

Gail felt awful. Lise had been defending her against the men, and Etienne The Ass had obviously not liked that one bit. She had wondered about Lise giving her the wrong vest earlier, thinking it had just been a mistake. But now, Gail wondered if the girl had switched out the vests on purpose. She stood up. "I've got to go talk to her."

Cas stood too. He also felt badly for Lise. He'd reached the same conclusion as Gail now, and if Lise had indeed switched the vests to try to protect Gail, he owed the girl a huge debt of gratitude. Lise had had no way of knowing that Gail was going to take the vest to the police. She'd just been trying to save her friend. No. They couldn't let Lise die this way.

"Hold it," Dean said. "If we go, we all go together. We don't have much time left to figure out a plan. We've gotta stick together."

Cas sighed. "Fine." He looked at Henri, who was nodding. "I'd like to go too, Cas," their human friend said. "Maybe I could help in some way."

"I'll take him," Paul said.

Cas sighed again. He was too weary to argue, and Dean was right. They were running out of time. "Let's go, then," he said. He grabbed Gail's hand in one of his and took Dean's with the other. Gail reached out for Sam, but Paul said, "Don't worry about it." He took Henri's hand, then Sam's, and they winked out of the hotel room.

VIGNETTE - BEST I CAN

It was a beautiful spring day, and Kevin was looking for his mother's cottage. She'd told him it was located by the sea. He walked down a winding road, looking for the lane that led to the house. She'd told him that the place was remote; she sure hadn't been kidding. But he could see why she'd decided to move here, in a way. He hadn't seen a soul on his walk, and the forest was very serene. His Mom had always been a big fan of nature, and she loved to paint land-and-seascapes.

He was glad she had finally reached out to him. After Linda and Kelvin had divorced, Kevin had kind of lost touch with both of them there, for a while. He'd had mixed feelings about their divorce. No one wanted to see their parents break up, but Kevin knew his Mom had been unhappy in her marriage for a long time. She'd stuck it out for her son's sake, but as soon as Kevin had gotten that scholarship and moved out of the house, Linda was out of there.

He'd had no idea where she'd gone or even how to reach her, but one day last week, Kevin's mother had called him out of the blue, asking him to come and see her. And he was glad that she had. He'd missed his mother. They'd been so close when he had lived at home. He'd wanted to tell her how well he was doing. He'd been at the top of all of his classes for over a year now, poised to have his pick of any number of great jobs once he'd finished his two-year program. But that wasn't the news that he was most anxious to share with his mother. Kevin wanted to let her know that he was in love.

He finally found the narrow laneway that led to the little cottage, and as Kevin neared the house, he heard his mother call out, "I'm in the back!" That was weird. How had she known that he was here?

Kevin walked around to the back of the house and he saw his mother sitting in a chair, looking out at the sea. She wasn't painting at the moment, but she had an easel set up next to her, and a palette of paints sitting on the grass underneath it.

"Have a seat, Kevin," Linda told him. He looked down and saw that there was another chair beside her now, so he sat down.

This was so strange. His Mom wasn't even looking at him; she was still looking out at the sea. She looked good, though. Her complexion had a healthy tone, and her expression was serene. But she wasn't smiling, and she hadn't even seemed particularly happy to see him. She'd never really been a demonstrative woman, and their household had never been a very warm and affectionate one. But still, they hadn't seen each other in about a year and a half. He would have thought she'd at least give him a smile.

"How are you, Mom?" Kevin asked her.

"The same," she replied. "The same as I've been, and the same as I will be. Time does not advance here."

What the hell? Kevin thought. What did that even mean?

"I have some news for you," he blurted out. "You're going to be a grandmother."

Now, Linda did look at him. "No, I'm not," she said expressionlessly.

Kevin's eyes widened. Why was she acting so weird? "Yes, you are, Mom," he insisted. "Becky's pregnant. I'm going to quit school and get a good job, and then we're going to buy a house."

"What did your father say when you told him?" his mother asked.

Kevin frowned. "He won't return my calls," he replied. "I think he's angry with me. It's like I'm invisible to him, or something."

Now Linda did favour him with a smile, but it was a thin one. "You ARE invisible to him, Kevin. So am I," she said. Then she sighed. "I did the best I could, Kevin. But it was time for me to move on. I miss you, but I'm fairly happy here. It's a little lonely, but at least I get to paint, and I am immortal now. You have to let go of me, Kevin."

"What are you talking about, Mom?" he asked her, bewildered. "Where are we?"

"I'm talking about the Netherworld, Kevin," she said in a sharp tone. "We're in the Netherworld. This is where Lucifer banished me to, after he killed me. I'll never see any of you again, ever."

Kevin opened his mouth to tell her that he loved her, and he was sorry that he'd let Lucifer kill her like that. But, wait: What were they actually talking about, here? Weren't they both still alive? Wasn't that supposed to be the whole point of this exercise? But then everything went dark, and a moment later, Kevin opened his eyes to see Lucifer removing his hand from his forehead.

"She's in the Netherworld!?" Lucifer exclaimed. "How the hell did that happen?" He leaned down and glared into Kevin's eyes. "Did you know about this?"

"What, that she was in the Netherworld?" Kevin retorted. "Yeah, I knew! You were talking about bringing her back to me, weren't you? Well, where is she, then?"

Lucifer's eyes flashed red, and his hands curled into fists. "Apparently, she's in the stupid Netherworld!" he raged. "But she's not supposed to be there!" He straightened up, shocked, as the thought hit him: Linda was in the Netherworld! So THAT was how they were getting all of their information on the damn Tablets! Luke had a weakness for female companionship, and she was obviously worming the details out of Luke and passing the intel on to Castiel. Damn it! But, what was Linda even doing in the Netherworld in the first place? She was just an ordinary Angel; she shouldn't have even made Death's list. Unless God Himself had placed her there, just to screw with Lucifer. But if his Father was getting involved, then why hadn't He just picked his prodigal Son up by the scruff of his neck and slammed him into another cage?

Anyway, to the situation at hand. As powerful as Lucifer was, even he could not reach into the Netherworld. That was why he had needed Mark to contact Luke through the special conduit that the remaining two Gospel writers shared. But Luke had stopped taking Mark's calls, and apparently, he was whispering way too much information into Linda's delicate little ears. Lucifer needed a way to shut that big mouth of Luke's. But he had no access to the Netherworld, and he had no idea who was currently slated to go there. Well, there was only one way to try to find that out.

"Wait here, kids," Lucifer said, cheerful again. As if they had another choice. "I'll be right back."

Cas and Gail brought Dean downtown. Paul was right behind them, holding Sam's hand in one of his, and Henri's in the other. As soon as they all appeared in the alleyway a block away from the Metro station where Lise was, Paul let go of the mens' hands. Sam flexed his hand, feeling like he wanted to wipe it on something. Holding hands with a Demon; how weird had that been? But he left it alone. Paul was their ally, at least for the time being. And Sam didn't want Paul to misunderstand. It seemed like Paul was the type of guy who thought that everything was racial, and the atmosphere they were in right now was thick enough as it was in that regard.

Gail walked quickly around the corner towards the Metro station, Cas trailing right behind her. Friends or not, he didn't want Gail to be in harm's way if Lise decided to trigger that vest. If Gail's vessel were to be blown to bits with her essence still trapped inside, she would be no more.

Sam and Dean hurried after them, but just before they got to the station entrance where the crowd was gathered, Dean turned back to look at Paul. But before he could open his mouth, Paul said, "Yeah, yeah, I know. Come on, Henri." He gestured to the older man. "They can't be seen with 'the help'." The two black men walked away from the quartet and joined the crowd.

Dean let out a frustrated breath. Man, the chip that guy had on his shoulder was a mile wide. But there wasn't time to worry about that right now. Gail was threading through the crowd, and Cas was desperately trying to keep up with her. Dean and Sam were taller than many of the spectators, so they could see poor Lise, standing in front of the Metro entrance. She was wearing a vest that looked very much like the one that Gail had had on, but he was pretty sure that this one was the real deal. It had more wires on it, and it was a lot bulkier. Lise was holding a wire in each of her hands. The cops had set up barricades, so Lise was standing alone. There was one lone male cop in front of the barricades facing Lise. He was speaking to her in a loud voice, but he was talking in French, so Dean didn't know what he was saying. But if he was trying to talk her down, it didn't seem to be working. Lise was sobbing and speaking incoherently, and when the cop took a tentative couple of steps towards her, Lise shook the wires she was holding and shouted something at the cop in French. Dean could only assume that she was yelling at him to get back, because he retreated a few steps, holding out his hands in a gesture that looked like it was meant to be comforting.

Gail had reached the front of the barricades now, and she was appalled. A male cop, shouting at Lise. Other male cops, pointing guns at her. Exactly the wrong approach to take with someone like Lise. To be fair, they wouldn't know anything about Lise or her life, but Gail knew there was a better way to handle this.

"Lise!" she called out. "Lise! I'm here to help you!"

Lise saw Gail, and incredibly, she smiled. "Hi, Gail! What are you doing here?"

Really? "I came here to talk to you," Gail replied. The officer who had been talking to Lise now turned around to look at Gail. "I'm a friend of hers," Gail explained to him in a quieter voice. "I can help."

The policeman looked at her speculatively, then he shrugged. The two women obviously did know each other, and he'd been getting nowhere with the girl. And, usually, the longer these kinds of things lasted without a resolution, the worse it became. Already the news crews were here, and the crowd of onlookers was growing. They'd set the barricades as far back as they'd had space for, but if she detonated that vest, the people in the front were going to suffer injuries. And, humanity being what it was, there were the inevitable yahoos in the crowd, exhorting her to do it. What the hell was wrong with people? Where was the compassion? This girl hadn't really been talking to him, much as he had tried to engage her in conversation. But she was obviously very distraught about something. He didn't know if she was truly suicidal, or just mentally ill and needing attention, but he didn't want this to end badly if he could help it.

"This woman says she's a friend of yours and she wants to help," he called out to Lise, gesturing to Gail. "Will you talk with her?"

"Oui," Lise answered, relaxing a bit. "Tell her to come here, please."

"No!" Cas said to Gail. "It's too risky!"

The crowd had quieted as this new drama was unfolding, and now Lise saw and heard Cas. "Non, monsieur," Lise retorted. "It is far riskier for her to be with someone like you. I would never harm her, because I AM her, and she is me."

Gail glanced up at Cas. "I've got to talk to her, Cas," she said quietly. "If I can calm her down, maybe we can help her. And then maybe she can help us, with the police."

He couldn't fault her reasoning, but Cas was scared. A woman in Lise's frame of mind was too unpredictable. But Gail was already stepping over the barricade. "If she looks like she's going to touch the wires together, please escape your vessel," Cas said quietly, grabbing Gail's arm and leaning down to speak into her ear.

Gail nodded. She knew what he was talking about. She hoped it wouldn't come to that, though. Gail really didn't want another vessel. She'd been through so much with this one. When that Demon-possessed panther had attacked her, she had suffered through a great deal of pain just to keep it. It was the only body she had ever had, and it was the one that Cas had loved, numerous times. She knew that he would love her no matter what vessel she wore, but it just wouldn't seem the same. "OK, sweetie," she told him. Then she stepped over the barricade and started walking towards Lise.

But Lise yelled, "Stop!"

Gail froze in her tracks. "What's the matter, Lise?" she asked.

"What did he just say to you?" Lise asked her suspiciously.

"Nothing," Gail said, thinking quickly. "He just told me to be careful."

"I don't believe you," Lise told her. "They want us to kill ourselves! That's why I gave you my vest. I didn't want this to happen to you, Gail. You're the only friend I ever had."

Tears sprang to Gail's eyes. So, Lise had given Gail her own vest on purpose, knowing that it was harmless, attempting to save her friend's life. But now Lise was wearing a real one, and Gail could now see that she had buckled it around herself. Etienne had said that once the vest was fastened, it couldn't be taken off without detonating. But if they could get Lise to agree to go to the police station, maybe they could defuse it there, while it was still on her. Then the cops would have the evidence they needed to arrest the men. This could still work out.

"I don't want anything to happen to you either, Lise," she told the girl. "I want to help you. Come with me, and we'll figure something out."

"I can't live like this anymore," Lise said, and now she was crying.

"You don't have to," Gail insisted gently.

"We don't deserve to be treated like that," Lise wailed. "We love them, and they treat us like garbage."

"I know," Gail said soothingly. She wondered what she should say next. It was a delicate situation. Lise was under the impression that the two of them were in the same boat when it came to their relationships, and the girl had apparently finally had it with Etienne. Maybe she should appeal to Lise on that basis. The main thing was to get her to the police, so they could get the bomb off of her. Everything else, they could work out after that.

"You know what, Lise?" Gail continued. "You're right! So why don't you come with me, then? We'll go talk to the police, and they'll make sure we're safe. How's that?"

Lise frowned. "The police? No! I can't talk to the police!"

Gail's heart sank, but she persisted: "Why not? They can help us. I'm fed up with being treated like that, too. We can leave those men, Lise. We can finally stand up for ourselves."

Lise shook her head slowly. "No, Gail. I can't. I'm not that strong," she said sadly. "I can't stay with him, but I can't turn him over to the police, either."

"Sure you can," Gail said. But she was starting to panic now. She was remembering all of those Lifetime movies. Gail had thought of them a lot in the past in relation to her own situation, when Cas had been the Demon. But he had inflicted those marks on her almost unwittingly, and as a byproduct of sexual frenzy. It was only the vampiric urges he'd undergone from time to time that had made him crazy enough to consciously hurt her. But she had allowed it, hadn't she? And later, when she had been in the throes of her own disease, she had encouraged it, for some strange reason, which was unknown to her even now. Maybe that was why Gail felt she understood Lise, and was sympathetic towards her.

But those movies were bothering Gail now. In pretty much all of them, even if the woman was fed up with her abuser, she didn't want to have him arrested at first, or "get him in trouble" in any way. Maybe that had been the wrong approach. But Gail had to get Lise to agree to go to the police station somehow.

As Gail stood there thinking about what to say next, Lise said, "It's too late for me, Gail. Au revoir, mon amie." She moved her hands to touch the wires together.

Gail started to run towards Lise. "No, don't! Please!" she shouted.

Cas vaulted over the barricade and ran towards Gail, and Sam and Dean were right behind him. What was Gail doing? She was going to get blown to bits!

Cas grabbed Gail from behind and wheeled her around, shielding her with his body as Lise touched the wires together. The vest exploded, and poor Lise was disintegrated instantly.


	3. The Empire Of The Dead

Chapter 3 - The Empire Of The Dead

They were all thrown to the ground by the blast. Cas fell on top of Gail, and their bodies slammed painfully to the ground. Sam and Dean flew through the air back towards the barricades. The force of the explosion had driven them backwards, which was fortunate, because it minimized their injuries.

The police officers rushed forward, but of course, there was no longer anyone to arrest. Lise's blood was spattered all over the sidewalk, but there was nothing left of the girl.

Cas and Gail had been closest to the blast, and Cas was covered in Lise's blood, because he had fallen on top of Gail. He'd had no time to try to cushion the blow, so the wind had been knocked out of both of them. But because they'd been thrown to the ground instantly, they had escaped major injuries.

But as Gail was trying to get her breath back, all she could see was blood. It was the same with Cas; all he saw was Lise's blood all over Gail, where it had dripped down off of him.

An officer dropped to one knee at their side. "Are you two all right?" he yelled.

"I don't know!" Cas said, dazed. His ears were ringing. He rolled slowly off of Gail and laid beside her on the pavement. Then he got up on one elbow, looking down at her. "Gail! Are you all right?" he shouted.

"I'm in too much pain to tell," she said, somewhat nonsensically. "What about you? You're the one who's got blood all over you!" She reached up to touch his face.

Cas grabbed her hand in both of his, looking closely at her. She seemed to be all right, and although he was very sore now, he thought that he was more or less intact, as well. They had been very lucky.

"I think we're OK!" Cas yelled to the officer.

"You're yelling, Cas!" Gail shouted.

The policeman looked at both of them, bemused. "Your ears should pop in a minute," he told them. "But in the meantime, we'd better get you both checked out. Wait here." He stood and waved for the paramedics.

Cas was sitting up now, looking around them. He saw Sam and Dean laying on the ground over by the barricades. But both brothers were moving, and they looked basically all right to him, too. Still, Cas was glad to note that the paramedics were attending to them.

A female paramedic approached Cas, kneeling down beside him. She touched his head. "Are you all right, Sir?" she asked him.

Cas nodded and moved his head away, looking down at Gail. "I'm fine. Please examine my wife," he said.

"We will, but you were the closest to the blast, and you're covered in blood," she countered. The paramedic moved to touch Cas again, and again he moved away. "I need you to look at my wife!" he said, agitated. "I need to make sure she's all right!"

"Let them look at you, Cas," Gail said to him. She tried to sit up, but her head was swimming. She clutched at him, and he put his arm around her for support.

"You're the one who needs the attention," Cas said firmly. He looked at the paramedic. "I fear she may have hit her head on the pavement when we fell," he told the woman. "I didn't have time to protect her head."

Maybe not, the paramedic thought, but he had doubtless saved his wife's life, anyway. If she had gotten just a step or two closer to that woman and taken the full force of the explosion, there would probably have been nothing left of her.

Cas rose to his feet slowly. "I want to check on Sam and Dean. Are you going to be all right until I get back, sweetie?" he said to Gail. In his shock and worry, he'd lapsed into using her nickname for him. That made Gail smile, and his heart lightened when he saw her do that.

"Yeah, please check on them, Cas," she replied. The paramedic had shifted her attention to Gail now that she realized she might have a head injury. And if her husband was well enough to stand, his examination could probably wait. The woman took out her pen light and shone it into Gail's eyes, asking her to look up and down.

Meanwhile, Cas had reached Dean, who was grimacing in pain as the paramedic was moving Dean's leg from side to side.

"Son of a bitch," Dean hissed.

"We'll have to take you and your brother to the hospital and get you both X-rayed," the man who was examining Dean said. "Wait here, and don't move."  
"Don't worry," Dean replied. He was in too much pain to argue. But it could certainly have been a lot worse. He looked over at Sam, who was sitting up and flexing his arms. Sam was grimacing in pain too, but he nodded his head at Dean, and Dean relaxed instantly. That was "It hurts, but I'll be OK," in Winchester language.

Dean looked up at Cas. "How's Gail? And how are you? You look like crap," he said bluntly.

Cas pursed his lips. "I'm fine, Dean," he responded grimly. "It's not my blood, or Gail's. Gail is being examined right now. I think she's all right physically, but she may have a head injury. We wanted to know how the two of you were doing."

Dean sighed, rolling his eyes. "We should see if we can get a group rate at the hospital, then," he groused.

But Cas was strangely serene now. He considered it a real miracle that none of them had been killed. He silently thanked his Father, and he said a quick prayer for Lise. As there was currently no God in Heaven, she would probably have to go to the Garden until there was one, awaiting the disposition of her soul. Hopefully, if Lise was as innocent as Gail believed she had been, she would be judged as worthy to ascend. But since Lise had technically committed suicide, the placement of her soul would still be in question. At least there was a way to review those cases individually now, ever since they had revised the ancient laws. Lise had attempted to save Gail's life by giving up her own non-lethal vest, and they owed her for that. However, she had also put Gail in mortal danger by detonating her own vest, and if Cas had not reacted as quickly as he had, Gail might have been blown to pieces. So, needless to say, Cas was feeling very ambivalent towards Lise at the moment.

Now that he'd confirmed that the Winchesters would be all right, Cas looked back to Gail. "Go," Dean said to his friend. "Me and Sammy will be okay. We'll see you guys at the hospital."

Cas hurried back to Gail. "She may have a mild concussion, but I think you must have cushioned her head somehow," the paramedic told him. "Many times in a situation like this, certain instincts kick in."

"How about that?" Gail said, smiling up at Cas. "You protect me when you don't even know you're protecting me. Why does that not surprise me?"

Cas looked down at her face, and his heart was filled with love for her. Thank You, Father, for helping me to protect her, he thought.

"We're taking her to the hospital, just to be on the safe side," the paramedic advised Cas. "They'll be here with the stretcher in a minute."

"I can walk," Gail said, starting to get up.

Cas shook his head with wonder. She was so stubborn. "I don't think so," he said, bending down and putting his hands on her shoulders. "Please stay here and do what they tell you."

Gail looked at his face and saw the concern in his eyes. She sat back down on the sidewalk and remained still. "OK, Cas," she said.

He nearly did a double-take. "That's it? No further argument? Now I'm really worried," he said to her. She laughed, but then she put her hand to her head. "Ow," she remarked, grimacing. "OK, I'll go quietly. Maybe I did hit my head a little."

"Cas!" He looked around and saw Henri and Paul, gesturing to him from behind the barricades. Cas hurried over to where they stood.

"Damn cops won't let us through," Paul fumed. "Is everybody OK?"

Now Cas did do a double-take. Paul the Demon, asking after everyone's well-being? Maybe Cas was the one with the concussion.

"I think they'll all be fine," Cas told them, "but we're going to the hospital, to make sure."

"This is going to be all over the news, Cas," Henri stated. "There's no way that those men will be unaware of what has happened here."

Cas thought about it. Henri was right. "What's your point, Henri?" he asked.

"Maybe they'll cancel their plans now," Henri responded.

"I doubt that," Paul scoffed. "They were planning on having the women blow themselves up, anyway. They'll probably just be more motivated now, since they didn't get any of us with this one."

Cas nodded. "Unfortunately, that is probably true," he acknowledged.

"Man, I'm about two steps away from going down there and wiping them all out myself," Paul said through gritted teeth.

"You can't do that," Cas said sternly. "We need that Tablet, and we need to get into the safe to get it." He was frustrated now. Cas needed to go to the hospital now to make sure that Gail would be all right, but he also felt the sense of urgency creeping up on him now. As soon as this news broke, there would be film of them all on the TV, and the time for finesse was gone. It was time to take matters into his own hands.

"Take Henri back to the hotel," Castiel said to Paul, "then meet me at their clubhouse. I'm going to the hospital to make sure that Gail is looked after, and then I will meet you there. It's time we took action."

Paul smiled. Now Castiel was talking his language. And whatever their differences may be, Paul knew that once Castiel had made his mind up to kick ass, he really kicked some ass.

"You're on," Paul told Cas. "Come on," he said to Henri, and they melted into the crowd.

Mark had gathered together a few dozen Demons in the parlour of the mansion, as per Lucifer's instruction. Lucifer was pacing back and forth in front of them now, like a General inspecting his troops.

"Who here likes to kill people?" he asked them.

They all exchanged glances. They'd heard that the Devil had a weird sense of humour. They all tentatively raised their hands. Of course they liked to kill people; they were Demons.

"Good, good," Lucifer said, nodding his head. Then he grinned. "I want you all to go to the mall a few blocks from here and start killing as many humans as you can. Just slaughter the crap out of them. Then, when the cops show up, kill them, too. Keep on going for an hour. Pile up as many dead bodies as you can. Then pop out. But I mean it; one hour, and one hour only. Have yourselves a good time, but I'm going to come there in an hour, and if I see any of you still there, I'll kill you myself. Got it?"

Yeah, they got it, all right. Lucifer could kill all of them with just a wave of his little finger, so they'd better do as they were told. But at least they were being given an hour of playtime before they had to put on the brakes. And they were glad. This would go a long way towards raising Lucifer's stock among the Demon populace. Many of them had become very frustrated with Lucifer, just as Mark had been. It was still better than being in Hell, but most of them had been under the impression that there would be a lot more murder and mayhem here under Lucifer's direction. Strangely enough, the fact that they could technically have done these things on their own hadn't occurred to most of them. Dean had always said it, and it appeared to be nothing but the truth: Demons were stupid.

They snapped themselves out of the parlour one by one as Lucifer grinned again. One hour, and he would have the mountain of bodies and the high-profile incident he needed to precipitate the meeting.

Sam and Dean had already been loaded into ambulances, and the paramedics were in the process of bringing another stretcher for Gail. She was still sitting there on the sidewalk, and Cas was sitting beside her, holding her hand.

Now that the shock had ebbed a bit, Gail was starting to become very angry. This was all Etienne's fault. That bastard had beaten and subjugated Lise, driving her to blow herself up because she'd felt like there was nothing else that she could do. Would he even care that Lise had been so desperately unhappy that being blown to bits had been the better option for her? Or would he have another little blonde slave in his apartment and in his bed by the end of the week?

Then suddenly, she saw him. Etienne was standing behind the barricades, looking at the scene. If he was horrified at what he was seeing, he hid it very well. He just stood there and stared for a moment, and then unbelievably, he smiled.

That did it. Gail scrambled to her feet and strode over to where Etienne stood. "Do you think this is funny?!" she screamed at him. Now he looked startled. She wound up and punched him full in the face, as she'd seen the men do, and his head rocked backwards.

Ow! Now she'd done it. Her head hurt, her body was sore all over, and now she probably had a broken hand. That had been satisfying, but why had none of those guys ever told her how much it bloody well hurt? Then again, maybe they kind of had. She seemed to recall Cas plunging his hand into a bucket of ice after punching out that guy in Las Vegas on her behalf. But it always looked so easy in the movies.

She shook her hand, but that seemed to make it hurt even worse, so she stopped. Cas was beside her now, and he took her hand gently in both of his, looking closely at it. "Well, you were going to the hospital, anyway," he said dryly. But his lips were twitching furiously. That had been a glorious sight to see, and the look on Etienne's face had been a thing of beauty. But now, Gail was in even more pain than she'd been before. He kissed her injured hand softly. "I'm proud of you, but please leave the punching to me in the future," he chided her gently. "Your poor hand."

Etienne had recovered from the blow, and he was watching both of them with narrowed eyes. What the hell was up with these two, all of a sudden? This was definitely not the dynamic he was used to seeing between them. And what had they been doing here, anyway? Had Lise called Gail? Etienne had had no idea what was going on with Lise, not until the bartender had turned the TV on at their bar and the news bulletin had come on. The stupid little bitch had strapped one of the real vests to herself and had come out here to get attention. Well, she had achieved her goal. It was too bad, but there was nothing Etienne could do about it now.

Cas was acting weird, though. His woman had had the gall to hit Etienne in the face, and instead of reprimanding her, Cas was holding her hand and kissing it, and acting like a simp.

"Cas, what's wrong with you, Brother?" Etienne asked him. "Are you going to let her get away with that?"

Cas turned to look at him, and his eyes had that shark like glint. "The question is, what's wrong with YOU?" Cas asked him calmly. Then he shrugged. "Then again, it doesn't matter, because whatever it is, it won't be wrong for much longer. I'll see you soon, Etienne. Very soon."

Etienne felt a frisson of fear. Was Cas angry with Etienne because Etienne's girlfriend had hurt Cas's little wife in the explosion? But what did Cas care? He was prepared to have Gail blow herself up tomorrow, wasn't he?

Cas took Gail by her uninjured hand and led her away from Etienne, without another word. The paramedics were just coming out with the stretcher for her, and Cas lifted her in his arms and placed her gently on the stretcher. The paramedics buckled her in and wheeled her away, Cas trailing closely behind.

Etienne stared at them. What the hell had all that been about? Had Cas been putting on an act, for the benefit of all the cops that had been around? That must be it. His wife was going to be dead tomorrow, so Cas was laying the groundwork today, acting like a loving and devoted spouse. Of course; that had to be it. The guy was diabolical.

Now that Etienne had been able to make some sense of the situation, he walked away from the scene and called Benoit on his cell phone.

"I was just about to call you," Benoit told him. "I'm calling everyone back to the clubhouse for an emergency meeting."

"Well, we'll have to hold it without our newest recruits," Etienne remarked. He informed Benoit that all four of them had been here, and they were now headed to the hospital. "I think they'll be OK, but we may have to revise our plans a bit."

"That's what I want to talk to everyone about," Benoit said. "I'm glad you told me what's going on with them, though. I'll give Cas a few minutes to get to the hospital, and then I'll call him for a report."

Etienne felt another shiver. He knew better than to argue with Benoit, but a part of Etienne hoped that Cas would be unable to fulfill his duty tomorrow. After the look Cas had just given him, Etienne was not so sure he was comfortable with the idea of being down there in the catacombs with the guy.

He hung up the phone and put it in his pocket, then stepped off the curb and hailed a taxi.

Cas was pacing the floor in Gail's room at the hospital. He looked like one of his white tigers from the Secret Garden, Gail thought, bemused.

He was being very sweet and solicitous to her, as usual, but she knew that he was very agitated. Benoit had just called Cas on his cell phone, asking him if everyone would be well enough to fulfill their roles tomorrow. There had been no mention of poor Lise at all. And why should there have been? To those men, she had not even been a person.

Cas had gripped the phone tightly in his hand. "So everything's going ahead, then?" he had asked Benoit.

"Of course," the man had replied. "Our plans have been in place for months now. We're not going to let a single act of stupidity derail them."

Cas's lips had pursed so tightly they all but disappeared. So, they meant to proceed. Paul had been right. Castiel knew what he had to do now.

"We're having an emergency meeting in half an hour at the clubhouse," Benoit continued to say. "Can you be here?"

Not that he'd needed the invitation, but Cas was glad; that meant that they would all be there. "Yes, I can," he told Benoit. And he would be bringing a special guest, too.

Then he had hung up the phone and begun to pace the floor. Cas told Gail it had been Benoit who had called. She had known it had to be one of them, based on the look that Cas had on his face. And Cas also told Gail that Benoit had advised that they meant to go ahead with everything tomorrow, as planned. But that was all he told her.

Cas was debating with himself now. If he told her what he intended to do, would she try to talk him out of it? Would she be disappointed in him? Or would she approve?

And then, to complicate matters, Sam entered Gail's room, pushing Dean in a wheelchair. Sam was using one arm to do it, and favouring the other one, which was in a sling.

"I'd give an arm and a leg to get out of here right now," Sam quipped.

"Is that supposed to be funny?" Dean grumbled.

"I thought it was pretty good, yeah," Sam said. "And so will you, when you take the painkillers they prescribed for us." He used his good arm to draw up a chair beside Gail's bed. "How are you?" he asked her, taking her hand.

Gail hissed in pain. "Ow," she said.

Sam let go of her hand immediately. "I'm sorry," he said. "How badly are you hurt?"

Gail sighed. "Beats me. They stuck me in here a while back, and I haven't seen hide nor hair of anyone since. What about you guys?"

"Same," Dean replied. "They said we needed to go for X-rays, but I think they forgot about us. If I could walk without feeling excruciating pain, I'd just get the hell out of here."

"It's the same with my shoulder," Sam added, "although I think I might have just dislocated it. But I figure maybe I'd better get an X-ray too, just in case."

"Me too," Gail said, touching her injured hand gingerly with the other one.

"What happened?" Dean asked her. "Cas land on your hand?" He looked at their Angel friend, smirking. "Maybe you'd better lose a few pounds, Cas."

Cas gave him a thin smile. Dean was being funny, but Cas was too agitated to appreciate his attempt at humour. But, maybe the fact that the brothers were here now was a good thing. They could keep Gail company and make sure she was looked after while he was gone, and the two of them could provide a distraction for her during his absence. In any event, if he was going to do it, he'd better go soon. The meeting was due to start in ten minutes.

"That's not how I hurt my hand," Gail told Dean and Sam. She told the brothers about what had happened with Etienne, and they were both grinning by the end of her story.

Gail was pretending to be angry. "But why the hell did you guys never tell me how much it hurts to punch somebody in the face?" she berated them.

"Because we never actually thought you would ever do something like that," Sam said. "I would have paid some pretty serious money to see it, though."

"Yeah. Your specialty has always been the good old-fashioned hand smack," Dean chimed in, touching his cheek.

Gail nodded ruefully. Yes, Dean would certainly know about that. He'd been on the receiving end of one of those a couple of times. "I dunno, I just thought I'd switch it up a bit," she remarked. "I've seen you guys do it, and I just thought it would emphasize my point. They make it look so easy in the movies and on TV."

"Yeah, but that's entertainment, not real life," Dean told her. "Your hubby would know all about that, working on that TV show. Wouldn't you, Cas?"

Cas had resumed his pacing during their banter, and he'd now made up his mind. He looked at Dean. "What?" he said blankly.

Dean made a face. "What's going on, Cas? Are you sure that you didn't knock your head on the pavement?"

Cas saw his opening. "No, I didn't, Dean, but Gail did. And we've been waiting here for a long time now, but no one's been in to see her. She could have a concussion, or worse!"

Dean nodded. So, that explained Cas's weird behaviour. He was freaking out about Gail's well-being. Business as usual. But Cas could have a point in this case. Concussions were nothing to fool around with. Look at all those sports guys who'd had lingering problems when their brains were scrambled on the playing field.

"I'm going to go find a doctor," Cas said abruptly. "And then I'm going to go to the gift shop and get you some flowers. You've been so brave." He was at Gail's bedside now, and he smoothed her hair back from her forehead, planting a soft kiss there.

"Dean's been brave, too," Sam quipped, "and so have I."

"I'll get you both a teddy bear, then," Cas retorted absently, and Sam grinned. Cas's sense of humour had improved a lot, ever since he had met Gail and her brother.

Cas gave Gail another kiss, and then he hurried out of the room as the trio stared after him.

Dean looked at Gail. "So, you punched him in the face? I'd come over there and give you a high-five, but...well...you know."

She smiled. "Yeah, I know. I was once in a wheelchair, too. But hey, look on the bright side: at least you're getting a teddy bear."

They all laughed, but then Gail's smile vanished. "Cas said he was going to get me some flowers," she said, her blood running cold.

"What, do you want to trade me for my teddy bear?" Sam teased her.

Funny, usually she and Sam got there at the same time. "He can make his own flowers, Sam," she said pointedly.

"Damn it!" Sam exclaimed. Gail was nodding. "He's going over there, isn't he?"

"He's going over there," she agreed glumly. Then she sighed. "I'm sure he'll have Paul with him, and the two of them should be able to handle those guys. Right?"

Dean did a double-take. "What, you're not gonna freak out? You're not gonna try to pop over there and help him, or something? Since when?"

She sighed again. "No. You were right, Dean. I would just be in the way. Until I can prove that I can hold my own in that kind of a fight, I would just be a liability to him. I don't have my blade, my hand might be broken, and I might have a concussion. Yeah, I think I need to sit this one out."

Dean banged his fist on the arm of his wheelchair, and Sam let out a frustrated breath. They would be of very little use to Cas right now, too. Dean couldn't even walk, and Sam would be wielding a weapon with the wrong arm.

Sam smiled grimly. "Well, I guess the good news is that Cas and Paul are both otherworldly beings, so each of them is worth about ten of us. Plus, they're not humans, so they're not fragile, like we are."

"I'm an otherworldly being," Gail pointed out.

"Yeah, but you're just a girl," Sam said with a wicked grin.

Gail used her non-injured hand to give him a very unladylike gesture, and all three of them laughed. But then Gail's expression grew sober. Poor Lise. Maybe they shouldn't be laughing right now. But Gail was just so relieved that she and her guys were all OK. She said a quick prayer for Cas, and yes, even for Paul, too. May they be successful in their missions to get the Tablet and to deal with the group. She wondered how they were going to handle the fact that the group apparently still planned to go ahead with all of the evil deeds they had lined up for tomorrow, though. But she was becoming increasingly sure that she might know the answer to that. Just how far Cas was going to go was really the only question that remained.

Cas was wondering the same thing himself as he appeared outside the building. The instant he and Paul popped into the place, Cas's cover would be beyond blown. But that was all right with him. They had tried to work within the confines of the human legal system to deal with these monsters, and that had not worked. Castiel had zero problem in asking his Father to give his Son a hand in providing a little divine justice. Even if he would have a Demon at his side while it was being dispensed.

"Finally!" Paul fumed as soon as Cas appeared. "You sure took your sweet time."

Cas frowned. "Well, I'm here now. Let's work out a strategy. If we coordinate with each other, we'll have the element of surprise on our side. I'd still like to try to be as discreet as possible. We have to get the Tablet first. Then we'll deal with those men." He smiled grimly. "I don't suppose you know how to crack a safe?"

"Oh, right. 'Cause we're all criminals," Paul said, rolling his eyes.

"Will you please not take everything I say in a racial context?" Castiel said in an exasperated tone. "Both Sam and Dean have experience in safecracking, and they're white! But it just so happens that they're both in the hospital right now!"

"All right, Castiel, don't get your feathers in a flap," Paul said, his lips twitching. Wow. His former Brother sure had taken on a lot of human characteristics in the past few years. Paul wasn't sure if that made him more tolerable, or less so. "No, I don't know how to crack a safe."

Cas frowned again. "Then we'll have to force someone with the combination to open it for us," he said.

"Sounds good," Paul said, nodding. "Let me just tell Henri."

"What do you mean, tell Henri?" Cas asked him sharply. "We'll see him later, at the hotel. We have to take care of this now, while they're all here!"

"He's not at the hotel, he's here," Paul told Cas. He looked behind himself. "He's right..." His voice trailed off. "Crap. Aw, crap. He's gone and stormed the Bastille."

"What are you babbling about?" Castiel asked Paul angrily.

"He insisted on coming here with me," Paul told Cas. "He said he had the right. He said if he was going to die, he wanted to see how many of those Nazi bastards he could take with him."

Cas's heart sank. "And you brought him here? One human, against all those men? What were you thinking?!"

"I was thinking I would treat him like a man. With dignity," Paul replied. "But he promised me he would wait here with me until you got here, and we would all fight together." Now Paul's heart sank. The old guy had obviously broken his promise. He was probably already dead, if he'd gone into that den of vipers.

Cas sighed, reaching into his pocket for his blade. "It looks like we don't have a choice, then. Come on, Paul. Let's storm the Bastille."

Paul grinned. Damn Castiel. Damn the whole lot of them. Paul hadn't had this much fun in years. Maybe not ever, in his entire existence. And he was having it with the Angel who had killed his father, a couple of flannel-shirted redneck-looking white guys, and a short little Angel woman who might be the scariest one of them all.

He drew his own knife, and then he and Castiel popped into the clubhouse.

Lucifer snapped himself into the atrium of the mall and looked around, nodding with approval. There were dead bodies everywhere. The blood was pooled on the formerly shiny floors of the shopping concourse, and he could hear blood dripping down onto the floor below from the escalator up above. In fact, the only other noise he heard at the moment was the escalator running. But there was another, unidentifiable sound, a low thumping, coming from there. He walked over in that direction. He had to see. There was a dead woman lying at the foot of the Up escalator, and every time a new step came up out of the floor, it would raise her head, and then drop it again. It was hilarious.

He stood patiently for a few minutes, enjoying the sight of the carnage. There was no one else here at the moment. As he had ordered, there were dead police officers among the victims. They'd obviously showed up to deal with the situation when it had first begun, but then, as the massacre had gotten worse, the authorities had probably retreated, and were outside strategizing. He sent out the eye, and sure enough, there were scads of police outside, and SWAT teams, and now he could see and hear a helicopter, too.

But all was serene in here for the time being, and Lucifer stood quietly until he heard what he'd come here for.

"Well, since you've gone to all this trouble, we might as well have a talk," Death said dourly. "Why did you summon my presence here today?"

Cas had Etienne by the arm, and he was holding his blade to Etienne's throat. He had hustled the man down the hall to Benoit's office, and they were standing in front of the picture that hid the niche where the safe was concealed.

"Open it, and I may let you live," Cas said to him.

Etienne was scared, but he was trying to brazen it out. "Open what?"

Cas's grip on him tightened, and Etienne could feel the knife's edge against his Adam's apple. Cas kept his blade very sharp on both sides, and if he pressed it any closer, Etienne was going to start to bleed. "The safe," Cas growled. "I know all about it, and I know what's in it. So you're going to open the safe for me, and my - compatriot - and I are going to take what we want." Cas used his knife hand to swing the painting away from the wall, revealing the safe. "All right, go," he ordered Etienne.

Damn it, Etienne thought. He'd really wanted to keep that Tablet, until he could figure out what the strange writing on it was, and what it said. He knew there was something very special about it. But it wasn't worth losing his life to this crazy bastard over. If only Benoit were here. But Benoit and Kurt had driven off somewhere, telling the rest of the men to wait for their return so that they could begin to strategize about the next day's activities. But right after they'd left, an older black man had walked right into the clubhouse, brandishing a gun. And then shortly after they'd subdued him, Cas had suddenly appeared in the middle of the clubhouse common room, accompanied by another, younger, black man. For someone as racist as Cas was, he was certainly hanging around with a lot of black guys all of a sudden.

It had been bad enough when the old man had come in. He'd been waving the gun around, ranting about vengeance, and decency, and needing to do what was right. Who was he? How had he found their place? Etienne and Gregoire had looked at each other, startled. Contrary to the stereotype, they didn't think all black men looked alike, and they recognized him as the man that Cas had punched in the bar. Had he come to avenge that?

"What are YOU doing here?" Etienne had sneered at Henri.

"I'm here to do the right thing," Henri answered, pointing the gun at him.

Etienne had laughed. "You're in exactly the wrong place, old man. Not only because we don't like your kind, but because you're vastly outnumbered. Now put that gun away, and maybe we won't kill you. We'll just beat the tar out of you. If such a thing is possible, of course."

Henri's gun hand started to shake. He could see the men gathering around him now, and he realized that he'd had no business coming in here like this. He'd just been so angry and so sad to see that little girl blow herself up like that. Just when Henri thought that these men couldn't get any more monstrous, they'd risen to the challenge. So he had lost it and rushed in here. But what had he thought he was going to accomplish by doing that? Had he thought he was going to kill them all? He really should try to kill at least a few, before they had the opportunity to carry out their evil plans. But even though Henri had come in here waving his gun around, he had not been able to bring himself to actually fire it. Unlike these men, Henri was no killer.

But if he had thought that he was going to intimidate or shame these men into seeing the error of their ways, then boy, had he thought wrong. The men had seized him, taken his gun from him, and tied him to a chair. They had roughed him up a little, but they'd been about to start really going to town on him when the proceedings had been interrupted by Cas and Paul's sudden appearance.

Everyone's attention had been on Henri, so no one had noticed Cas and Paul's entrance right away. One moment they hadn't been there, and the next moment, they had. Etienne had Henri's pistol in his hand and he was winding up, getting ready to strike Henri with it, when the Angel and the Demon had popped in. Cas had grabbed Etienne by the wrist and twisted the gun out of his grasp. He'd thought momentarily about twisting harder, snapping the bone, but then Cas had pulled up at the last second. Until he had the Tablet, he might need this piece of scum's hands.

Gregoire was looking at Paul in shock. How could this be? He was the man that Cas had killed back at the bar, in order to obtain the ink for the signing of the pledge! Yet here the man was, alive and well. He had been deader than dead, and Gregoire should know; he and Kurt had dumped the body in the catacombs themselves. Did the guy have a twin brother, or something? But even if he did, what the hell was Cas thinking, bringing him here? Was he supposed to be some kind of a sacrifice?

But then, Cas had disarmed Etienne, and the younger black man was grabbing members of the club and throwing them around, slamming them against walls, and against each other. Cas now had his knife to Etienne's throat, and he was barking, "Where's Benoit?"

"He's not here," Etienne had said, stunned. "What the hell, Cas? Talk to me! What's going on?"

Not here? But Benoit had called him and told him to come for the meeting! Well, no matter; they were hardly going to hang around and wait for him. Etienne was his second-in-command. He would probably know the combination. It was certainly worth a try.

Paul made eye contact with Cas. "Go," the Demon said. "I'll handle these guys. But be quick about it."

Cas nodded, and he had dragged Etienne down the hall and into Benoit's office. So now they stood in front of the safe and Etienne moved forward, turning the dial on the combination lock. The door swung slowly open when he was done.

"There," Etienne said resentfully. "Take it, then. But you're never going to get out of here alive. You and your 'compatriot' are seriously outnumbered. And what the hell are you doing hanging around with a spade, anyway? That's not like you." In Etienne's shock at being assaulted by Cas, it hadn't even registered on him that Paul was the guy who Cas had supposedly killed in the bar. It merely distressed him that a man like Cas, who Etienne had been convinced was devoted to the Cause, would perform a heist with a member of one of the inferior races. Cas must be planning on double-crossing the guy after he got what he wanted. That would make more sense.

"You have no idea what I'm like," Cas said coldly. "And I assure you, I'll be getting out of here alive. None of you will, though. But, right now, let's go back and join your friends."

"Aren't you going to take what you came here for?" Etienne spat out the words. The nerve of this guy.

"All in good time," Cas responded. He still had a hold of Etienne with one hand and he was holding his blade with the other. Cas couldn't touch the Tablet; as soon as he'd seen it, he knew. It was warded against Angels. That hadn't been particularly surprising to him; the Earth Tablet had been, too. Cas had previously suspected that this one might be, as well. He'd been planning on asking Sam or Dean to grab it, if they had been able to crack the safe. But as soon as he laid eyes on it, Cas realized that they wouldn't have been able to touch it, either. This was the Purgatory Tablet; therefore, it could only be touched by a monster. That was why Etienne and Benoit had been able to touch it. What was Cas going to do now? He was not about to trust Etienne to retrieve it for him.

But, he wanted to go back to the common room for a bit, anyway, not only to think about this dilemma, but because Cas wanted to see how Paul was faring, and to make sure Henri was all right. They hadn't had to use many of their otherworldly powers before Cas had left the room, but that was because they'd had the element of surprise. But Etienne was right about one thing; they were definitely outnumbered. He'd better make sure that Paul still had the upper hand.

Paul did, but he was flagging a bit. So far he hadn't used many of his powers, but he would have to start ramping it up soon.

Cas saw that Paul was tiring, so he slammed Etienne into a chair and tied him tightly to it, using lengths of wire that had still been lying on the table. He wondered if this was the same wire that had been used in poor Lise's vest. It would only be poetic justice if there were a bomb attached to these wires, as well. But the day wasn't over yet, Cas thought, smiling grimly to himself.

Meanwhile, Paul had been amping up his powers to knock guys out. He was too tired to do it the human way anymore. Cas sighed, but really, what did it matter at this point? So he flung his arms out at the men and the blue rays shot out of his fingertips, incapacitating several men at a time. Paul looked at him, startled. What the hell was that, now?

Castiel saw Paul's look, and he gave the Demon a half-shrug. "Original," Cas said succinctly, and he resumed knocking men out.

Soon, the humans were all laying in heaps on the floor, all except for Gregoire and Etienne. Cas thought he might need a couple of them, so he'd picked these two as being a little above the rank and file, as far as the hierarchy of this organization went.

Paul untied Henri, using the ropes that had bound the older man to tie up Gregoire, and he'd made sure that the ropes were tied nice and tight. These were two out of the three bastards who had laughed and smirked when Paul's blood was being used for the signing of the pledge. Well, they'd see how funny it was when it was their own blood that was dripping from the walls of this building.

"Thank you, Paul," Henri said, standing up and flexing his arms. Then he looked at Cas. "I'm sorry, mon ami. I said I was going to wait for you, and I should have kept my promise. I let my temper get the best of me," Henri told Cas.

Cas smiled. "I think I might have an idea what that's like." And he certainly did. Right now, the pulse was beating in his temples and his blood was heating up. But until he could figure out how to get that Tablet out of the safe, he couldn't afford to lose it.

Cas looked at Paul speculatively. "Can you do something?" he asked the Demon. "Can you go down the hall to the office and see if you can remove the Tablet from the safe?"

Paul's eyebrows raised. "Why didn't you just bring it out when you were there?"

"It's warded against me," Castiel replied, but he said no more. After a moment, Paul shrugged, then started off down the hall.

Cas was relieved. He'd thought for sure that Paul was going to make some sort of smart remark. But it was funny, really: a day or so ago, Castiel would have thought that Paul was eminently qualified to pick up this particular Tablet. But now, he wasn't so sure. Here Paul was, fighting alongside Castiel, the Angel who had killed his own father, to save the lives of countless human beings. Was Paul monstrous enough?

Castiel had his answer a moment later. "Ow!" Paul yelled loudly from down the hall. Then he popped back into the room, startling the humans. Henri still wasn't exactly used to the way they got around, and he started a bit. But the other two men jumped in their chairs, eyes wide. What WERE those two? They were obviously not human. Now Gregoire and Etienne were really scared. What were they going to do?

"Thanks a lot, Castiel," Paul said sarcastically, shaking his hands. "What was that, some kind of practical joke? The stupid thing zapped me, twice! I can't touch it!"

Despite himself, Cas broke into a grin. So Paul was not beyond redemption, after all. Maybe he COULD ascend. They would have to have a discussion about that later.

But right now, Cas was back to square one. He'd been thinking he could wait for Kurt and Benoit to get here, so he could have them all. The women, Jacqueline and Renee, had been dealt with the same as the men, and they currently lay unconscious on the floor alongside those men. There was no evidence to suggest that they were innocent in this matter, and Castiel did not have the time to do any further investigation. But he had really wanted the other two men, especially Benoit.

He'd have to take what he could get. This needed to end, right now. Benoit couldn't possibly proceed with their plans without his personnel, and in a few minutes, he was going to be minus a headquarters, as well. Cas untied Etienne, pulling him to his feet.

"I need another favour, Paul," Cas said. "Can you take this piece of filth to the office and have him take the Tablet from the safe? I'll be back in just a moment."

Paul frowned, but he said nothing. He wanted to wrap this up, too. The Tablet was obviously warded against both Angels and Demons, and now Castiel wanted to try a human. But this had better work. Paul was having a hard enough time restraining himself from starting to slice and dice his way through these racist bastards. He came over and grabbed Etienne, hustling him down the hallway.

Cas looked at Henri. "I'll be right back," he told the older man. "Please, just stay right here." Then he popped himself out of the clubhouse and into the bunker.

"I need to know who you've got on the list for the Netherworld," Lucifer said to Death.

Death regarded him sourly. "You do, do you? Well, that's unfortunate, because I'm under no obligation to tell you."

Lucifer let out a frustrated breath. Technically, Death was right. They had both been around since the beginning of Creation, but neither of them had any hold on the other or had even ever met before. They knew each other by reputation, of course, but that was all.

Death felt no personal animosity towards Lucifer. The Devil had been locked away for eons, and the notions of Good and Evil held no particular significance for Death one way or the other. So it wasn't the fact that Lucifer was supposedly the personification of evil that bothered Death. It was the fact that Lucifer had such a bad reputation amongst all of the otherworldly beings. Bottom line, the Devil was a petulant brat, with an odd sense of entitlement. He had never actually served Heaven, or accomplished anything constructive, yet he seemed to feel as if he deserved everything that their Father had on offer. Yes, he was an Original, but so were Metatron, Crowley, and Castiel. Why should Lucifer be favoured over any of them? But he had apparently been God's favourite at some point, because his powers trumped that of any other single Original. Death knew that Lucifer could easily defeat any of the other Originals in a one-on-one confrontation. He could also overpower two. Three might give him a run for his money for a while, but only the three other men plus Gail would be able to subdue Lucifer for long enough to throw him back into the cage they would construct after all of the Tablets and the key were obtained. And although Death did not necessarily want to be perceived as taking sides, he was actually siding with the Angels on this one. Lucifer wasn't fit to rule any of the Kingdoms, in Death's opinion. He was like a 2-year-old child who wanted to go to the toy store, but once he got there, would do nothing but run up and down the aisles aimlessly, smashing all the toys. Lucifer just didn't get it.

But Death did get it. There was a reason for Lucifer's sudden interest in the Netherworld. Luke had been telling Linda all about the places where the Tablets were secreted, and Lucifer was beginning to get worried. The Devil had no idea where Castiel was at the moment, nor how close he was to securing the third Tablet. Luke had already told Linda where the next one was, and she was waiting impatiently for the Angels to contact her again so she could give them the information. Death was the one who had personally escorted Linda to the Netherworld after Lucifer had snapped her neck, to try to give the Angels the advantage. But he didn't feel any need to enlighten Lucifer when it came to that particular fact.

"I know you owe me no obligation," Lucifer said, as charmingly as he could, "but I was hoping you would, anyway."

"And why would I do that?" Death asked him coolly.

"If I ruled Heaven, just think of how much business I could send your way," Lucifer said slyly. "Once I get into the High Office, I'll bring about Armageddon."

Death gave Lucifer a baleful stare. That statement just proved that Lucifer didn't get it. "I don't care about the 'business'," Death said disdainfully. "I'm not Crowley, you know. I have no personal stake in these matters, one way or the other. My job is simply to administrate, and to delegate. I only show up at events like these - " he waved his hand at their surroundings " - out of idle curiosity. And to make sure that the natural order is not being messed with. Have you been tampering with the natural order of things, Lucifer?"

He'd asked his question in a very dry voice, with no hint of an inflection, but Lucifer still took a step back. Maybe this had been a bad idea. As evil as Lucifer was, he held no sway over Death; rather, it was the other way around. "No, I haven't," Lucifer mumbled. And technically, that was true. It was the Demons who had done that.

Death lifted the walking stick he always carried and pointed it at Lucifer's chest, causing the Devil to take another step back. "You're a liar," Death said coldly. "And if I were to touch you with this right now, you would disintegrate. Remember that, should you feel the urge to do anything like this in the future." Then Death faded gradually away, until he was no longer there.

Lucifer let out the breath he'd been holding. The sour old lemon-sucker would probably do it, too. Maybe Lucifer should have brought some macaroni and cheese with him, or something. He'd heard that Death liked cheap, crappy food. But he had badly miscalculated the way he'd thought this meeting would go. Lucifer had thought that Death would just naturally be on his side. He was Death, for God's sake! His business was corpses. Dead bodies. Not puppies, rainbows, and unicorns. But all the guy had done was babble about the "natural order". Who the hell cared? If Lucifer were in charge, they could make their own rules. Still, Lucifer supposed he'd better forget about any future meetings with Death. He'd really meant it when he'd said he could kill Lucifer. Next to God, Death was the only single being who could.

Lucifer snapped his fingers, disappearing from the mall concourse. But before he left the scene, he waved his hand, setting the emergency vehicles on fire and exploding the helicopter in mid-air. Lucifer was a big believer in paying things forward. Why should he be the only one having a bad day?

Then he returned to the mansion.

Cas had retrieved one of the special carrying cases from the bunker and returned to Paris with it. He'd seen no one during his brief visit to the bunker, and he'd been glad. There would be plenty of time to tell everyone about their adventure once they all returned, safe and sound. But after they got this Tablet and took care of Les Rebelles Blancs, Cas would need a brief moment to unwind. This mission had been very hard on him, in a lot of ways.

"Put the Tablet in this case," Cas ordered Etienne. The man gave him a dirty look, but he did as requested. Both Cas and the younger black man were holding knives on Etienne now. When Cas had popped out of the clubhouse, Paul had looked at Etienne and given him a humourless smile. "I can't wait to see if your blood dries as quickly as mine did," Paul said to him. Then Etienne realized who Paul was, or at least, where he had seen him before, and Etienne's blood turned to ice. He was being compliant now, at least until he could figure out a way to try to survive this situation.

As soon as Cas had the Tablet in the case, he closed it up and breathed a sigh of relief. "I'll put this safely away, and then I'll be right back," he told Paul. "Please take him back to the common room in the meantime." Cas winked the case back to the bunker, placed it in the library area, and sent a quick message to Bobby on Angel Radio that it was there. He and his group were in the middle of something, he told Bobby, so they would have to check in with Bobby when they got back.

But when Cas returned to the clubhouse, the situation had changed. Etienne and Gregoire had somehow gained the upper hand on Paul. The Demon was pinned to the wall through his chest with his own knife, and Henri was back in the chair, tied up again.

Paul was spitting mad. He was cursing Etienne out at the top of his lungs. But the sad fact was that he had gotten careless. Etienne had acted so cowed by him and Cas that Paul had dropped his guard. Etienne had used this lapse in attention to body-slam Paul against the wall, and he had grabbed Paul's knife and impaled him to the wall with it. And Paul didn't dare try to remove the knife from his chest, because he was pretty sure that his essence would come out along with it.

So, Etienne was holding a gun now, and Gregoire had a kitchen knife to Henri's throat. Cas looked at Paul. What the hell?

"Sorry, Castiel," Paul said in a subdued tone. "Guy got the jump on me."

Unbelievable. Cas had been gone for two seconds, and Paul had otherworldly powers. "You got complacent, that's what happened," Cas snapped. "You should never drop your guard."

"I seem to recall it was you who was being held captive a while back, until your woman brought your Brother to bail you out," Paul snapped back.

"Do you really want to be reminding me of that right now?" Cas said angrily. "Or have you forgotten that it was you who set me up that day?"

"You two lovers can argue on your own time," Etienne said, smirking. "But right now, I'm going to need you to come over here and give me your knife, Cas," he continued, motioning to Cas with the gun and then pointing it at Henri.

Cas looked at Paul and sighed. He walked over to where they stood and extended the blade towards Etienne. But suddenly, Cas turned and put his face close to Paul's. Etienne watched, his eyes wide with horror. Were they kissing?

Paul breathed his essence into Cas, and then Cas turned around, seizing the gun from Etienne's hand. He wheeled around and shot Gregoire clean through the head. Gregoire fell, and the knife he'd been holding to Henri's throat clattered harmlessly to the floor.

"Right, I'm done with this guy," Paul said to Cas. He grabbed Etienne and drew Cas's knife out of his blazer pocket. "And I know just where we're going to put him, too."

"Where?" Cas said curiously.

Now Henri was the one whose eyes were wide. Cas was standing there talking aloud to himself, yet he sounded just like Paul. And Paul's body was slumped against the wall, looking like a deflated rag doll. What was happening here?

Paul looked Henri's way, amused by the look on the older man's face. "I guess we'd better clue Henri in, before he starts stroking out," he told Cas. "Do that thing you do to this scumbag." He shook Etienne, who was still in his grasp. Etienne had struggled mightily, but of course he was no match for Cas and Paul's combined strength and motivation. "But don't make it last too long," Paul continued. "We definitely want him awake for what's in store for him."

Now Cas understood what Paul had in mind. Ironically enough, it was something that Cas had already threatened to do to Etienne. But he'd been merely playing a part, trying to sound especially menacing under the circumstances. He hadn't really meant that he would actually do it. Had he?

"Think of that poor girl, blown to bits," Paul said to Cas. "And he wanted your wife to be next. I'll bet that's not all he wanted to do to Gail too, was it?"

Cas thought about that, and his blood began to boil. "We need to take Henri with us, just in case Benoit and Kurt come back," he told Paul. Then he grinned coldly, making Etienne's blood run cold. "And, I hope they do. I really hope they do."

He hustled Etienne over to where Henri sat, bound to the chair. Because Cas had the strength of two otherworldly beings inside him at the moment, he was able to maintain a viselike grip on Etienne with one hand while untying Henri's ropes with the other.

Once Henri was free and Cas had knocked Etienne out, Paul looked down at all the unconscious club members on the floor. "See you in a minute," he said, smirking. "We're gonna blow the roof off this place." Then he and Cas vanished with Etienne and Henri.

They reappeared in the catacombs. Cas dropped Etienne's unconscious body to the ground and turned to Henri. "I'm sorry you have to see this," Cas apologized to Henri. "Please feel free to look away, if you're squeamish. But we had to bring you with us, to make sure you were safe."

Was he kidding? Of course Henri would much rather be here with Cas than be left alone in a den of white supremacists. He looked around. It had been years since Henri had been to the catacombs. They were standing in the Empire Of The Dead. How appropriate. Henri might be old, but he wasn't stupid. He knew what had to be done now, and he was all for it. There was just one thing that was puzzling him.

"Why do you keep saying 'we', and 'us'?" Henri said to Cas. "What's going on?"

Cas smiled. "We're otherworldly beings, Henri. When the situation warrants, we can trade or share essences. Only some of us can do it, though. I suppose Paul inherited the ability from his father. Usually, only higher-ranking individuals can do it."

Wonders never ceased, Henri thought. That certainly explained what he was seeing and hearing. But he didn't know whether to be confused, or amused. He settled on a combination of both. "Well, you gentlemen just do what you need to do, and don't worry about me. I'll support anything you feel you need to do to stop these guys. Anything," he added, giving Cas/Paul a significant look.

That was good enough for them. Cas put his hand on Etienne's forehead and woke him up. Then he leaned down and grabbed Etienne's face roughly.

"This is what happens when you take the wrong path," Cas told Etienne. "When you view others as inferior to yourself, and when you wish to cause them harm because of it. And when you claim to love a woman but treat her as you would treat a piece of garbage."

"All right, Castiel, less preaching and more killing," Paul said, rolling his eyes. "We still have business back at the clubhouse. And YOUR woman is going to start to worry about you."

That got Cas moving. He reached into his jacket and got out his blade. "Would you like to do the honours, Paul?" Cas asked him.

"Damn straight," Paul said eagerly. He slashed Etienne with the blade, once, twice, several more times. Etienne hissed in pain, but he was determined not to cry out. He sneered up at Cas. "Why don't you just kill me?" he taunted him.

"Because that would be much too quick," Cas said calmly. He slashed Etienne some more. "Remember what I said at Hallowe'en?"

Etienne paled. He did remember. "No. You can't," he said, dazed.

"Oh, I assure you, I can," Cas said, nodding. "That way, you'll have more time to think about poor Lise. That is, if you ever thought about her at all."

Paul could have high-fived Castiel at that moment. And then his reluctant admiration for Cas grew as Cas reached into his other pocket. He'd put the kitchen knife that Gregoire had dropped in there, and he use it now to impale Etienne to the wall, the same way that Paul's body was impaled back at the clubhouse. This time, Etienne screamed in pain.

"What's the matter, Etienne?" Cas asked him. "Don't worry, it's not a fatal wound. It'll just hold you in place long enough for your friends to get here." He pretended to cock his ear. "I think I can hear their little feet now."

Cas took Henri's hand. "We'll go back now," he said to the older man. "Close your eyes."

This was it, Etienne thought. Cas was going to kill him, and he didn't want the old man to see. He screwed up his face, preparing himself for the fatal blow.

But Cas merely reached up with his blade and used it to smash the overhead lights, plunging the passageway into darkness. "There," he said softly. "Now you won't have to experience the horror of seeing them coming."

Henri broke out in goosebumps. Yes, but this would be worse, much worse. He would hear them coming, and he would certainly feel them on him once they got there. But if there was anything creepier than sitting in the dark, bleeding, waiting for a bunch of rats to come and begin dining on you, Henri didn't know what it could be. Stephen King had nothing on Cas the Angel.

"Goodbye, Etienne," Cas said, and he winked Henri back to the clubhouse as Etienne began to scream.

Once they were back in the clubhouse, Cas and Henri went down to the basement where the two remaining suicide vests were. Cas quickly checked them both, making sure that the bombs were inside the lining. They were, but he frowned now. "These need to be worn in order to be detonated," Cas mused aloud. The two wires needed to be touched together, as he'd seen Lise do. They couldn't just set timers on them and then exit the clubhouse, as he had been hoping that they would be able to do.

Henri touched his arm. "Put one on me, then," Henri said to Cas. "You need to go back to your lovely wife. And Paul is young, and I think he deserves another chance."

"Naw," Paul piped up. "Let the old guy live. I'll do it. Worst comes to worst, I end up back in Crowley's lap. But I'm hoping if that's the case, you can put in a word for me. In any event, at least I'll know I did the right thing, for once in my life."

Castiel was impressed. Paul was now demonstrating his case for redemption, and it was a pretty good one. "Agreed," he said.

They went back upstairs, and Cas breathed Paul back into his vessel. Then Cas put the vest on him.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Son?" Henri asked Paul, who gave him a tight smile. "Yeah, Pops," Paul answered him. "Enjoy your time. Hopefully, I'll see you on the flip side." Paul looked at Cas. "Give that wife of yours another kiss for me. I like her, Castiel. And, tell those flannel-shirted crackers they're all right, too. Even you're beginning to grow on me. Even if you are a stone-cold killer."

Cas frowned. He was more used to Paul's style of speaking by now, but he wished he hadn't said that. The comment had probably not been a dig at Cas, referring to his murder of Paul's father, but it was a sore spot for him, regardless. But Cas couldn't worry about his feelings right now. He had to remain as cold as stone for the time being, in order to do what needed to be done.

He fastened the vest around Paul's midsection, and handed him the wires. "I'll see you, Paul," Cas said. Then he took Henri's hand and winked them out of the clubhouse.

They reappeared a block away, at the top of the hill, and a few moments later, the clubhouse building exploded. The men exchanged glances, but no words were spoken. Then Cas winked them out of there.

VIGNETTE - LESSONS IN LOVE

Lucifer returned from his meeting with Death in a foul, petulant mood. Damn that dried-up old humourless prune. But he outranked Lucifer, and the Devil couldn't touch him. Fine, then. It was back to the original plan. He still had two young Angels to tempt, and nobody was leaving here until one of them had given in.

So he went straight for Becky. She was young, in love, and stupid. There was no way that she would know that he had no way of influencing Sam Winchester's affections for her, one way or another. There were certain promises that Lucifer actually could deliver on, should he be so inclined, but affairs of the heart were beyond his scope. Even God Himself had had trouble with that. The Almighty had tried in the past to split Castiel and Gail up, thinking it would be for the greater good, but He had never been able to do it. They had kept coming back to each other, because they were meant to be together. But Sam and Becky were not. Not that Lucifer cared, though, one way or the other. If Becky was determined to press the issue, who was he to argue?

Lucifer looked down at Becky, "I can hand Sam Winchester to you on a silver platter," he told her. "I'll make him fall in love with you. You'll get married and live in the bunker together. He'll kiss you and hold your hand, just like Castiel does with Gail. And Sam is quite experienced in other areas, too. He can give you the hot nights you've envisioned in your fevered, throbbing little dreams." Lucifer leaned down and spoke into Becky's ear. "And we know that you've had those," he said slyly. "There were a few times when you and Kevin went a little further than just hand-holding in Heaven, weren't there? But while Kevin was picturing you with your clothes off, you were pasting Sam's face onto Kevin's." Lucifer straightened up and looked at Kevin. "Sorry, man, that's just the way it goes," the Devil said to the young Prophet. "You should have just stuck it in her anyway, when you had the chance. She could have just pretended you were Sam then, too."

"Shut up," Ethan barked. Lucifer looked at him coolly. "I'll get to you in a minute, if need be," he said to Ethan. Then Lucifer turned back to Becky. "Let me show you how perfect it could be," he said, putting his hand on her forehead.

"I hope you didn't make too much," Sam said to Becky, hanging up his cell phone. "Dean's not coming."

Her back was to him as she stood at the stove, stirring the gravy. And because her back was to him, he didn't see her smile. Good. She liked Dean OK, but she was happy he wasn't coming for dinner. Now she would have Sam all to herself. "That's too bad, honey," she said, keeping her voice even.

"Hey, it's OK," he said, walking over to where she stood. He put his arms around her from behind and kissed her on the ear. "In fact, why don't you turn the oven down? We can eat later. Right now, I feel like taking you into our bedroom and and not coming out for a couple of hours. Would you like that?"

Becky's pulse quickened. Still, she was upset by what had happened the last time, and she wanted to stick up for herself, so that it wouldn't happen again. It had really put a damper on her mood. "As long as you call me by the right name this time," she said in a teasing tone, though she didn't smile.

Sam took the stirring spoon out of Becky's hand and spun her around to face him. "I apologized to you about that, Becky," he said to her in an earnest tone. "I don't know why I said her name."

I do, Becky thought resentfully. But she didn't want to start a fight, so she smiled and said, "OK, Sam. Give me a kiss, and then we'll go."

He leaned down to kiss her, but suddenly, Cas and Gail popped into the kitchen. Gail elbowed Cas. "See, I told you we should have called, first," she told him.

Sam let go of Becky and wheeled around. "Hey, you guys!" he enthused. "It's good to see you! It's been ages."

"Well, we know what it's like to be on your honeymoon," Cas said to him. "Congratulations."

But Sam was looking at Gail, and he rushed forward to give Gail a hug as Becky frowned. Great. Sam had called out Gail's name at the vital moment last night in bed, and now here she was, in Becky's kitchen. Gail already had Cas madly in love with her; did she have to have Sam's heart, too?

Becky went back to the stove, turning everything down. Dinner was ready, anyway, so she might as well serve it. Cas and Gail didn't eat, of course, but she and Sam did, and now that Gail was here, that was all that Sam and Becky would be doing for a while.

Becky got the plates out of the cupboard and started to set the table. She got the roast out and banged the platter down in the middle of the table. Sam gave her an admonishing look. "Sorry," Becky said tonelessly. She stalked back to the stove to get the rest of the food. Usually, Sam helped her, but now that Saint Gail was here, Sam wouldn't leave her side until Cas took her away.

They all sat down at the table, and Cas and Gail told the couple about their latest adventures. "Actually, we could use your expertise, Sam," Cas said, taking Gail's hand and kissing it. She smiled at him, but then she turned and looked at Sam again. Sam was staring at her. He was barely touching his meal, and he was looking at her other hand like he'd like to take it, too. But he'd better not do it, Becky thought, or he was going to feel Becky's fork in his arm.

"Why don't you and Dean come and work the case with us, Sam?" Gail was saying now. "It's been way too long since we've gone on the road together. We miss you guys."

"I'd love to," Sam said immediately. "I mean, we'd love to. I'll call Dean and ask him, but I'm sure he'll want to come. We haven't seen any action lately."

"That's because you've been on your honeymoon," Becky said pointedly.

"Oh," Sam said. "Right." He looked at Becky as if suddenly remembering that she was also in the room. "You don't mind if I go, do you...?"

"Becky," she said darkly. "My name is Becky."

"I know it is," Sam said, a little irritably now. "Of course it is. And when we got married, you said that you would never want to stand in the way of whatever made me happy."

"I thought I made you happy," Becky said, pouting.

Cas was looking from Sam to Becky and back to Sam again, and he was looking uneasy. "We're sorry," he said to them. "We didn't come here to cause any problems. Maybe we should just forget it."

"No, Cas, that's silly," Gail said. Then she leaned forward and put her hand on top of Sam's, and Becky's grip on her fork tightened. "If coming with us would make Sam happy, I'm sure that Becky wouldn't mind. Right, Becky?" Gail asked her.

Becky gritted her teeth. "Of course I want Sam to be happy. He's my husband," she responded. Not yours, she thought, but did not say.

"Well then, it's settled," Sam said cheerfully. "I'll start packing right away."

"I'll come with you," Cas said, and both men rose from the table.

Once they had left the room, Becky sat back in her chair and glared at Gail. "Why did you have to show up?" Becky asked her. "We were really happy until YOU got here."

"Were you?" Gail said coolly. "Then why did Sam call out my name in bed last night?"

Becky gasped. "How do you know about that?"

"I know a lot of things," Gail said smugly. "I know you can't make someone fall in love with you, Becky, no matter how many roasts you cook for them, or how many times you spread your legs for them. Luckily, Cas and I don't have that problem. He's madly in love with me, and he'll do anything for me. Sam, too. Sorry, Becky. You're just a stupid loser, with the IQ of a sea snail."

Becky was astonished. Gail had never talked to her like that before. They'd known each other for years, and they had always gotten along. Becky had suspected that Sam had a bit of a crush on Gail, but Gail had always been devoted to Cas before. Why was she being so mean to Becky now?

"Because I'm not really me," Gail said to Becky, rising from her chair. "Because I'm you, saying everything you've always secretly feared." She gave Becky a fake smile. "I think I'll go and see how the two guys are doing. Maybe we'll have a quick threesome in your bed before we leave." She started to laugh, and her laughter echoed all the way down the hall.

Becky shook her head violently. Now she knew that something was wrong. Gail would never say anything like that, and she would certainly never do anything like that. That sounded like something that Lucifer would say.

She opened her eyes. "You don't play fair," Becky said to him.

Lucifer shrugged. "Hey, I'm the Devil," he told her. "But did you not get what you wanted? You and Sam, in domestic bliss? You, fattening him up with your cooking, and him sticking it in you every day? Isn't that marriage, in a nutshell? Isn't that love?"

"Not if he's thinking of Gail while he's doing it to me!" Becky yelled.

Lucifer leaned down, putting his face next to hers and grinning slyly. "Then why don't you just kill her, then?" he suggested.

"Leave me alone," Becky said nervously.

"Oh, so you've thought about it, have you?" he said, delighted.

"No! Of course not!" Becky exclaimed.

"Methinks she doth protest, too much," Lucifer said, smiling. Then he straightened up, looking at Kevin and Ethan. "For you young illiterates, that means she's full of it." He looked at Becky again. "OK, if you're in denial about wanting to kill her, then why don't you just pretend that you don't know that Sam is thinking about her? Couples do it all the time. Or you could think about Cas, if you want. He's better-looking than Sam, and he's got more going on downstairs, if you know what I mean. I'm sure Sam would be more than willing to swap for a night or two, if you were to suggest it. Cas could teach you some variety, and then you could take some of that knowledge back to Sam. Maybe he wouldn't be so bored with you, then. Maybe he wouldn't be lusting after another man's wife."

Becky was squirming uncomfortably in her seat now. God, he was disgusting. She loved Sam with all her heart. It was a pure love, and he was trying to turn it into something dirty. No wonder everybody hated Lucifer so much.

"I told you to shut up," Ethan said sharply.

Lucifer wheeled on him. In truth, the Devil knew that Becky was a lost cause now too, because she would never be able to accept Sam under any of those terms. She wanted the romance-novel type of marriage that Cas and Gail had, but Becky was never going to get that, and deep down, she knew it. But he was having fun playing with her, nonetheless. "I would have thought that it would be young Kevin, defending Becky's honour," he said to Ethan. "Could it be that YOU want to get into her pants, maybe?" Then he snapped his fingers. "Oh, right, I forgot. You're already committed, aren't you? And you Angels take your marriage vows way too seriously. At least, most of you do," Lucifer added with a smirk. He walked over to Ethan's chair, looking down at him.

"We were common-law," Ethan blurted out, "but to us, it was the same thing." Now, why had he gone and said that? But at least he had pulled Lucifer's attention away from Becky, for the time being.

Lucifer smiled. "They call that 'living in sin'," he said conversationally, "but they have no idea what they're talking about, right, Ethan? Karen, isn't it? Too bad your kid's a bastard, though. You don't even know what his name is, or anything about him, do you?"

Ethan frowned. "No, I don't. I got shot before we could settle on a name."

Lucifer's smile widened. "Let's talk about Karen and your son," he said, pulling up a chair.


	4. Tears In Heaven

Chapter 4 - Tears In Heaven

Cas winked Henri to the hospital, and the men entered Gail's room. She was sitting on the bed now, not in it anymore, and she was talking with Sam and Dean. Sam now had a sling over his shoulder, and Dean was out of the wheelchair, but he was sitting in the chair beside the bed with crutches leaning against the bedrails.

Gail hopped off the bed and ran to Cas. He opened his arms and embraced her, but gently, because he still didn't know what her injuries might be.

"I'm so glad to see you, sweetie," Gail said, sniffling into his chest. He held her head against him for a moment, feeling the lump grow in his throat. This, here, was what life was all about. Not back there. Nothing about what he had felt forced to do back there was OK.

But Cas didn't want to cry right now, he just wanted to wrap this up, and get the hell home. So he pulled out of the embrace and looked at her face. "Did you get medical attention?" he asked her.

"Yeah, we all did, Cas," Gail answered. "But you would have known that, if you had come back from the gift shop. Where are my flowers, Cas?" She pulled away from him a bit and folded her arms, looking at him with a cocked eyebrow.

Cas wore a sheepish look now, and Gail continued, "We knew where you were really going two seconds after you left, Cas. But why did you feel the need to lie to us?"

Cas and Henri exchanged glances, and Castiel sighed. "Because I felt that you may not approve of what had to be done."

Gail nodded slowly. Of course. Cas had always subscribed to the theory that it was much easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission. But she had been thinking about it the whole time that he'd been gone, and she had discussed it with Dean and Sam. The consensus they had reached was that Cas and Paul had done what they'd needed to do to protect all of those innocent lives.

"Well, for your information, we talked while you were gone. And it just so happens that we understand what had to be done," Gail told him. "But I'm still not happy that you lied about it."

Cas nodded. Fair enough. "We'll talk about that, I promise," he told her. Then he waved his hand and conjured a bouquet of pink roses for her. He handed them to her, saying, "Pink symbolizes gratitude, and appreciation, among other things."

"Then they should be from me, to all of you," Henri said. "I owe you so much."

Dean frowned. "We didn't end up doing anything, Henri."

Henri shook his head. "Doesn't matter. You put your lives on the line to try to do what was right." He nodded to the brothers, who nodded back in acknowledgement.

Gail took the roses from Cas and smelled them. "Thank you, Cas," she remarked. "They're beautiful." She decided she could be mad at him later, if she had to be. Right now, she was just so glad that he was OK. Then she glanced curiously at Henri.

"Don't worry about me, little lady," Henri told her. "I'm fine. Your husband and Paul took good care of me."

"Speaking of which, where is he?" Sam asked.

Henri looked at Cas, then said, "That young man - or whatever he was - sacrificed himself to save me, and to get the job done."

Dean shrugged. Oh, well. The guy had been a Demon, anyway. "What exactly happened over there, Cas?"

Cas frowned. "I'll tell you about it sometime, but right now, I just want to go home. The Tablet is secured in the bunker now. If you've all received the medical attention you need, I'll take you back to the hotel, and then we'll go home." He looked at Gail. "What was your diagnosis?"

She gave him a thin smile. "I have a mild concussion. I'm not supposed to sleep for twenty-four hours. I told them I didn't think that would be a problem." She showed him the hand that she had punched Etienne with. "And believe it or not, I only have bruised knuckles. No breakage of any kind. I've gotta be honest; for the kind of pain I have, I'm almost disappointed that nothing is broken."

"I know what you mean," Dean said. "I have a wrenched knee. That's it. What does that even mean?"

"It means you're getting old," Sam said, grinning. "A couple of years ago, you would have just bounced right up off the pavement."

"I wouldn't talk, if I were you," Dean retorted. "You have a dislocated shoulder. But if you had rolled the right way, you wouldn't have even had that."

"I must have missed it the day they taught rolling away from explosions as a subject in school," Sam fired back, but he was still smiling. Considering how bad it could have been, he figured they'd done all right. And Cas and Henri were fine, too. Really, this was all they could have asked for. Sam rose, and he walked over to where Henri and Cas stood. He looked at Cas. "Where's my teddy bear?" Sam deadpanned. Cas gave him a tight smile and clapped him on the shoulder.

Then Sam looked at Henri and extended his wrong hand, the one not in the sling. "Sorry, I just wanted to shake your hand however I could," Sam said to Henri. "It's been a pleasure to meet you, Sir."

Tears sprang unexpectedly to Henri's eyes. A white man, calling him "Sir". He extended his wrong hand too, so he and Sam could have a proper shake. "You too, Sam," Henri said. He looked over at Dean. "Toi aussi, Dean."

"That means you, also," Gail told Dean. He looked annoyed. "I know what that means," he said to Gail, but then he smiled. She was too cute, standing there with those roses in her arms. She looked like Miss America, or something.

"It was great meeting you, Henry," Dean told the man. "Maybe we'll come back and visit you sometime."

"I'd like that," Henri said. "There's always room at my dinner table for any of you." Then he turned to Cas. "I don't know what to say," Henri said to him. "You did a hard thing, but it was the right thing. I hope you don't beat yourself up over it too bad. Promise me you'll try to help young Paul out, if you can. I think he deserves a shot at redemption." He put his hand out to Cas, who took it.

"Merci, Henri," Cas said. "We'll see you again, some day."

"Yes, I imagine that's true," Henri said with a faint smile. And probably sooner rather than later, he thought. Unless he went into remission, it would probably only be a few months. But they would be good months now, and when his time came, he would go without protest, knowing that they had made a difference.

Gail sniffled loudly, and everyone looked at her. "Sorry," she said, her voice trembling. "Just smelling my flowers." She thrust them into Cas's hands and launched herself at Henri, giving him a big hug. He returned her embrace, smiling.

"Take care of yourself, Henri," she said to him. He gave her a squeeze and then released her. "You know it, little lady," Henri replied, and he chucked her under the chin. "And, remember what I said."

"I won't let the white man get me down," she answered pertly, and Henri threw his head back and laughed. He kissed her on the forehead, tipped the men a salute, and walked out of the room.

Cas gave Gail back her flowers and the two of them took Sam by the hands. "Let's go, Dean," Cas said. Dean sighed. He rose from his chair, grabbed his crutches, and hopped over to where they stood.

The Angels popped them back to the hotel, where they all packed their things. Then they checked out, and then they winked back to the States.

Cas brought the brothers outside of the bunker. "I hope you don't mind," he said to Sam and Dean, looking at Gail for confirmation. She nodded. "We just don't feel like talking to anyone in there right now," Cas continued. They're probably all asleep, anyway."

"You guys get some rest, and we'll be over in the morning," Gail added.

Dean looked at Cas. "Are you really gonna make me go down all those stairs like this?"

Cas smiled wearily. "Of course not." He put his hands on the brothers' foreheads and gave them the push inside the bunker. Then he extended his hand to Gail. "Let's go home."

Cas dropped the bags on the bedroom floor. "I need a shower very badly, for a multitude of reasons," he said to Gail.

"Go ahead, sweetie. I'll unpack and clean our clothes," she responded.

He frowned. "I hope you know that I would never expect you to do that, and that I'm very grateful every time you do."

Gail gave him a small smile. "I do know that, Cas. But I appreciate you saying it, anyway." This would have been a perfect opportunity for a quip, but she knew that he would not be ready to hear something like that yet. She could see by the expression on his face that he had to decompress a little, first.

Cas opened one of the bureau drawers and took out a pair of clean shorts, then he walked off to the washroom without another word. Gail sighed, and she brought their bags over to the bed. She took their clothes out, cleaned them, and put them away. Then she sat on the bed and waited for Cas to come out. When he did, she said, "Come here." He went to her and she said, "Lay down with me."

They laid down on the bed and she put her arms around him. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to," Gail told him. "We can just lay here quietly. I put the cell phone on mute, and I'm going to suggest we turn off our frequencies for a couple of hours. I just want to hold you, and I want to make sure you know that you're loved." She put her hand on the back of his head and lowered it to rest on her chest, and he began to cry. She could feel his body shuddering, and she held him tighter, stroking his hair.

Cas cried for a while. He cried for Lise, and also for what he had decided he had to do to those people. It was not in his true nature to be that ruthless, despite the things that he had done in the past. He had just regressed. Cas had been so sure that he was a better Angel now. That was not who he was any more, Cas kept telling himself. But he had just been so angry, and so afraid that those men were going to go on to harm countless people, if a more permanent solution was not put into effect. Still, he cried. He cried for the way that he had treated Gail, and for having hit her at the clubhouse. Even though she had insisted that he do so, it had broken his heart to do it. He cried about the fact that such people as those even existed in the world. And yes, he even shed a few tears for Paul.

Gail was crying silent tears, too. She was crying for the same reasons Cas was, and also because it hurt her heart to see him like this. But she realized he needed the catharsis, so she remained quiet.

After a while, his tears subsided, and he lifted his head to look into her eyes. "I have never felt so loved, and so understood, in my entire existence," Cas said to her. She reached up and touched his face. It was wet with the tears he'd been crying, and he was about to apologize for that when she did something strange. She touched her own wet face with the same hand, and she said, "Your tears are my tears, Cas." Then she put the hand back on his face. "And my tears are yours."

Cas took her hand and kissed it gently. He had not forgotten that her bones were bruised. He smiled tremulously. "Are you trying to make me cry again?" he quipped in a soft voice.

Gail smiled. "No. Even though I like a good cry every now and then, I think we're done for the moment." She sat up and reached for the box of tissues on the nightstand. They both wiped their faces and blew their noses at the same time, then they looked at each other and laughed.

"Well, people are always accusing us of doing everything together," Gail said lightly. She took their tissues and put them on the nightstand, along with the box. "There. I'll worry about those later. But right now, I'm worried about something else."

"What's that?" Cas said, his brow furrowing.

"I'm worried that we've been home for almost an hour, and you haven't even kissed me yet," she replied, affecting a serious expression.

"Well then, let's remedy that, right now," Cas said, smiling. He leaned over and kissed her, and then he kissed her again, opening her mouth with his tongue. She gave him hers, and they wrapped their arms around each other.

"Are you going to be all right, sweetie?" Gail asked him once they broke the kiss. "Or, to put it another way: What do YOU need, Cas?"

His heart swelled. "I don't know," he said, smiling, matching her tone. "I don't believe anyone's ever asked me that before."

"That's right; you're always asking ME that," she said, nodding. "I thought it was high time I returned the favour. So, what DO you need?"

"You," he said. "Always and forever. For eternity. As long as you're with me, loving me and letting me love you, I don't need anything else."

"Then you're very low maintenance," she joked, "because you already have that. Which begs the question: What am I going to get you for Christmas, then?"

Cas smiled. She was being funny now. But he said, "It's me who needs to worry about what to get you for Christmas. I should gather the moon and the stars for you, and the sun, too. Anything you could desire, I would get for you. I love you so much."

"We'd need a bigger house for all of that stuff," she said, her lips twitching. "How about you just make love to me now, and we'll call it even?"

Cas kissed her again, still smiling. He undressed her, and then he took his shorts off. He was on top of her, and he wanted to be part of her, so he murmured, "Can I...?"

Gail knew what he was going to say. "Yes, please," she replied. She opened her legs and Cas entered her, moving slowly in and out. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, and he smiled. He loved it when she did that. He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, and her lips. "I love you, Cas," she told him. She caressed his back and shoulders. He pushed a little harder, and a sound escaped her. His mouth came down on hers and he sped up his motion. Their tongues came together and they both whimpered, and then Cas was still.

"I have no words," he breathed, looking into her eyes, "to tell you how much I love you. I will never be able to express myself properly."

Gail smiled. "I think you do a wonderful job of expressing yourself," she told him. "Every day, all the time. Whenever you take my hand. Whenever you get that line in the middle of your forehead that signifies you're worried about my safety. Whenever you kiss me, and we make love. And whenever you get mad at someone when they throw shade in my direction." Her smile widened. "That particular thing is one of my favourites."

She was so cute. He rolled off of her to lay beside her and hugged her to him. "How about me?" Gail asked him. "Do I do a good enough job of expressing my love for you?"

He looked at her, incredulous. She had to be kidding. "Of course you do," he told her. "You have loved me and supported me all this time, even though I haven't always deserved it. You have endured more than anyone should ever have to endure, and you have done it with grace and humour. You let me take your hand, and you worry about my safety, and my feelings. You kiss me with love in your heart, and you look at me with love in your eyes. And you make me feel like I deserve you, even though I'm sure that I do not. But I'll keep trying to deserve you, Gail. I swear that I will."

Now she knew that he was circling back to Paris, and what he had done at the clubhouse. They still hadn't had that conversation, but she didn't want to push him for the details. He would tell her when he was emotionally ready to do so. Whatever it had been, it had clearly been very effective; otherwise, he wouldn't have brought them home. And they had the Purgatory Tablet now, which had been the whole purpose of the mission in the first place. So even though Paris had taken an emotional toll on both of them, the mission had to be considered a success. They could rest up tonight, and then go to see Quinn tomorrow to get the information for the next Tablet.

Gail was caressing his chest now, using her non-injured hand. Cas's eyes were half-closed as he enjoyed the feeling. Once again, she was proving her love for him by not interrogating him about what he had done back at the clubhouse, and especially, what he had done to Etienne. If she asked him directly, he would tell her, of course. But in truth, he still couldn't quite bring himself to talk about it, and he appreciated that she wasn't forcing the issue. She was being so sweet to him.

He reached for her, rolling her gently over onto her back. He moved down her body and caressed the insides of her thighs, and she opened her legs. He made love to her with the tip of his tongue while caressing her legs and hips. After a moment, she began to make her sounds, and he drew her closer to him, speeding up his tongue. She started to cry out and he smiled, closing his mouth around her. Gail held his head there as he continued to make love to her, but she needn't have, Cas thought warmly. He wasn't about to leave there, or to stop, until he was sure that she had been fully satisfied. He loved making her happy like this.

The pleasure washed over her like waves on the beach, in and out, until she was finally still. Cas came back up to hold her and he kissed her for a while, cuddling her.

"I want to talk to you about a very serious subject," Gail said a few minutes later.

Cas sighed. Well, she was certainly entitled to her answers; she had been very patient with him. "Yes, my love?" he asked her with trepidation.

"We need to start making a list for our Christmas shopping," she said. "I don't want to wait till the last minute."

He looked at her, and then he began to smile.

Bobby was reminded of the old Bob Dylan song, and he smiled thinly. He'd been knock, knock, knocking on Heaven's doors for a while now, and it seemed like there was no one around. Well, no one he needed to talk to right now, anyway. Had a national holiday been declared, and they forgot to tell him?

When he'd gotten the call from Cas, saying that the Purgatory Tablet had finally been delivered to the bunker, Bobby had gone to Kevin's office to see the young Prophet. He'd intended to ask Kevin if he could pop down to the bunker and start studying the Tablets that were locked up there. Bobby'd had the idea for a while, and now that they had three out of five of the things, it seemed to him that now might be a good time to start.

But Kevin hadn't been in his office, or his apartment, either. Then Bobby tried Ethan, because he'd been planning on asking the young officer to accompany Kevin down to Earth, for the extra security. But Ethan wasn't in his office or his apartment, either. What the hell?

Might as well try the third Musketeer, then, Bobby reasoned. So he went to the library, and he was gratified to see Chuck sitting in his usual position at the front desk. But when Chuck turned his gaze on Bobby, Bobby frowned. Chuck's eyes were flat and dull, and his expression was cold. If he'd been a human, Bobby would have thought that Chuck was suffering from sleep deprivation. In short, Chuck just looked...weird.

Bobby forged ahead. "Chuck, have you seen Kevin, or Ethan?"

"No," Chuck said tersely. Bobby waited. "Why?" Chuck said, after a moment.

Bobby explained what he had in mind, and Chuck let out an exasperated breath. "No, I haven't seen either one of them, or anyone else, Bobby," he said irritably. "I guess I'm persona non grata to all of you guys these days."

Bobby's forehead wrinkled. "What do you mean, Chuck?"

"Well, apparently, I'm not good enough to be on Tablet missions anymore," Chuck said resentfully. "I guess Saint Castiel has to make sure he's the only hero in town. You need to be careful, Bobby. He'll be after your job, next."

Bobby was surprised. This was the old Chuck talking. "What's your problem, Chuck?" he asked the Prophet. "Nose a little out of joint because they didn't need you in Paris? Well, boo hoo. You'll notice I wasn't there, either. But the four of them obviously had the situation in hand, because Cas delivered the Tablet to the bunker a short time ago."

"He did?" Chuck perked up now. "So, Gail's back? They're back?"

Bobby's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, they're back, Chuck, for now, at least. But they probably won't be here for long. There are two more Tablets to get. In the meantime, I want Kevin and Sam to get started on those translations. But if Cas needs Sam to go out on the road with him, Kevin will need the extra security. I'm not taking any chances. The more Tablets we get, the more cornered Lucifer's gonna feel. I'll tell you what; if you've got cabin fever, I can send you down to the bunker, too. Maybe they'll need the extra help."

Chuck was mollified, somewhat. Maybe he'd be able to see Gail there. She and Cas always wound up at the bunker eventually. Chuck wanted to talk to her about how her marriage was going. He'd seen some things he didn't like when he'd keyed in on her, including one shocking vision where it looked like Cas had actually hauled off and slapped her across the face. That had better have been a false vision, or Cas may not have to worry about getting any more Tablets. In case Cas had forgotten, Chuck had an Angel blade, too.

"Can you do me a favour and see if you can see where Kevin and Ethan are?" Bobby asked Chuck. The Prophet sighed, but he closed his eyes and opened his mind. Soon, an image began to form. Kevin, Ethan, and Becky, for some reason. They were tied to chairs in some kind of a room somewhere. Kevin and Becky looked scared, but Ethan was looking up at their captor with an expression that suggested he was very interested in what the man had to say.

"Lucifer's got them," Chuck said, his previous feelings of resentment forgotten. "And there isn't much time."

VIGNETTE - WHATEVER HAPPENS

Ethan stood outside his former apartment building every morning, waiting for Karen and the baby to come out for their daily walk. He was still an Angel, and she and his son were still humans. Nothing had changed in that regard. But Ethan had to check on them every day now. It had become an obsession. There were so many crazies out there these days. Their neighbourhood had deteriorated in the short time that he'd been away, and there were more drug dealers and gang-bangers on the streets these days. Karen walked their son to the park every day unless the weather was really bad, and she would sit and watch him play. Their son wasn't actually a baby anymore; it had been nearly three years since Ethan had come to Heaven, and his baby son was now a toddler. And Ethan had finally found out his son's name. Karen had named him George, and Ethan had smiled when he'd heard her call him that. That was Ethan's brother's name. They'd talked about baby names when Ethan had still been alive and listening to her stomach. He'd joked that the little guy was in there making rude noises like his brother did, sometimes. George must be the only gay guy Karen had ever met with no discernible manners, she had joked back. Karen had still been pregnant when Ethan had been killed in the line of duty, so obviously she had remembered that conversation and named the baby accordingly. Plus, Ethan was sure that his brother George would be helping Karen out with baby George; they'd been a pretty close-knit family.

But brother George hadn't been around the other day, when a crackhead had waved a gun in Karen's face and demanded money from her. She'd given him the $5 she'd had in her purse, and after grabbing her purse and turning it upside down to make sure she wasn't holding out on him, the man had fled. And, unbelievably, Karen had taken a deep breath, replaced the items in her purse that had been dumped out on the sidewalk, and taken little George to the park. The boy had looked at his mother quizzically, not understanding what had just transpired. But he had sensed that she was upset, so little George had remained silent. Ethan had been frantic. His first impulse had been to run the perp down, but by the time he figured out that he probably could have just used his Angel powers to blast the guy, the crackhead had already been running down the street. And that was fortunate, in a way. Strictly speaking, he wasn't supposed to reveal himself to his family, nor use his powers on Earth. Not that those rules would have mattered to Ethan one bit if his family's lives were on the line, of course.

But suddenly, that incident had made Ethan more aware of just how vulnerable Karen and George really were. It was just the two of them now, and the old neighbourhood had gone to crap. But it was the only area in which they were able to afford to live. And really, where was it any better? There were robberies, rapes, and murders everywhere, every day, all the time.

And there were other perils, too. A household accident, a fatal disease, the deep end of the pool. Ethan had known a guy who knew a guy who swore that his next-door neighbour had been killed by a piano, falling off a third-floor balcony. You couldn't make stuff like that up. But if things were that dangerous out there, how in the hell could Ethan ever protect his family?

"I can make them immortal," Lucifer murmured in his ear.

Ethan looked at him. "Yeah, right."

"I'm the Alpha Angel, the bearer of light," Lucifer said calmly. "I assure you, I can."

As Karen and George walked down the street, hand in hand, Ethan started to walk after them. Lucifer trailed behind. "I hope she's not going to bring him around other kids today. There's a nasty virus going around," Lucifer said cheerfully. He waved his little finger, and a car veered in Karen's direction, jumping the curb and missing her and George by a few feet. "Look out!" Lucifer yelled at the top of his lungs, and a huge tree branch fell from overhead, impeding Karen's path on the sidewalk. But she kept walking stubbornly on.

"It's a tough old world out there," Lucifer said to Ethan, shrugging.

"You leave them alone," Ethan said hotly.

"I don't even have to touch them," the Devil said innocently. "Shit happens, Ethan. You know that. It happens all the time. Too bad they're humans. So fragile."

Ethan thought about that for a moment. In a way, would it really be so bad if the worst were to happen, and Karen and George were to die? Wouldn't they all just be reunited in Heaven, then, as a family? Not that he wanted anything to happen to them, of course; but at least if it did, they could be together.

"No, it's not going to work like that," Lucifer said slyly, lying his face off now. "If they die, Death is going to escort them personally to the Netherworld, and you'll never see them again."

"What? Why? Why would they go there?" Ethan asked him suspiciously.

"Because, they're your family," Lucifer replied. "Bobby didn't do you any favours when he made all of you his designated Angels. By doing that, he elevated you to VIP status, entitling your family to some nice digs in the Netherworld. Pity you'll still be stuck in Heaven."

"I don't believe you," Ethan told him.

"No?" Lucifer said. "Why is Linda Tran in the Netherworld, then?"

The Devil was good. Ethan was convinced. And now, he was miserable. He'd never see his family again? But he loved Karen with all his heart, and he'd never even met his son. How fair was that?

"I can make them into eternal beings, and in doing so, I can bypass Death, thereby guaranteeing that they'll never go to the Netherworld," Lucifer crooned in Ethan's ear.

Ethan looked at his wife and son. Then he looked at Lucifer, who nodded encouragingly. Then he released Ethan's bonds.

Ethan slipped off his chair, falling to his knees. "I hereby worship you," he said.

Lucifer threw his head back and boomed laughter, as Kevin and Becky screamed.

Tommy was standing out back of the bunker, washing the patio furniture so they could store it in the garage for the winter. It was funny how this place had become his and Barry's home. Barry had even instituted a jobs jar which he kept on the kitchen counter, and every day whenever they got up, Barry would make sure that whoever was there that day would reach into the jar and pick out a piece of paper, and that was their chore for that day. Or that week, depending on what it was. It didn't matter what time of the day you did it, as long as you did it. Angels didn't sleep or eat, so their schedules were a little more flexible. And yes, he had the Angels on board, too. Bottom line, if you decided to show up at the bunker, you were assigned a chore. No one was exempt.

Tommy was getting his chore out of the way early this morning. The sun was just creeping up over the horizon when he'd finished folding up the last chair. He leaned everything against the wall for transfer to the garage later, at a more civilized hour. He stood and looked at the sky for a moment, enjoying the colours that were coming in as the sun rose.

But suddenly, the sky turned pitch black, almost as if someone had reached out and flipped a light switch, extinguishing the sun. Then Tommy heard a man's maniacal laughter, echoing throughout the clouds.

The hairs on Tommy's arms stood up, and his entire body broke out in gooseflesh. Oh, God. My God. He dropped to his knees and began to pray.

Lucifer ran up and down the halls in Heaven like a little kid who had just been released into the schoolyard for recess. He didn't know what to do first.

He'd gazed around in amazement when he'd first gotten there. No more white...everything! He saw colours everywhere, just like there were on Earth. This had to be Castiel's doing. Then Lucifer grinned. Must have been one hell of a wedding night. The power of two Originals combined in that specific and unique way had obviously produced this fantastic result. Maybe he should have seduced Gail after all, when he'd had the chance. Who knew what could have happened then? Maybe they would have rearranged the planets, or something. He'd always thought Uranus should be closer to Earth. Lucifer giggled at his own sophomoric joke.

He had brought Becky, Kevin and Ethan back with him, and told them to go about their business. Run along, youngsters. The grownups have important matters to discuss. The young Angels had all been in shock, and Ethan had looked as though he was about to have a stroke. My God, what had he done?

Lucifer skipped past the library, looking at the entry door for a moment. Then he shook his head. Nahhh. He and Chuck would be besties soon enough, once the poison had infected Chuck's brain a little more. Yes, Lucifer had great plans for Chuck.

But he didn't want to deny himself the Big Moment any longer. This had been a long, long time coming. Lucifer took a deep breath and let it out before he got to Bobby's reception area.

He walked into the foyer and slowly strode towards the door to Bobby's office.

Laurel stood from her desk. "I'm sorry," she said. "But Bobby's busy at the moment. If you want to see him, you'll have to make an appoint - "

She didn't get to finish her sentence. Lucifer looked at her and said, "I've had this appointment for untold centuries, Toots." He waved his pinky finger, and Laurel was slammed back down into her seat and immobilized.

Then Lucifer squared his shoulders and extended his arms, and the door to Bobby's office swung open.

Bobby was sitting at his desk and Patricia was standing behind him, showing him the numbers for the third quarter. Bobby didn't give a flying fig about the third quarter, but he did like the smell of Patricia's perfume and her light touch on his arm, so he had been sitting there quietly, pretending to listen. But he'd also been stewing about what Chuck had said. All he'd gotten was that there wasn't much time, whatever the hell that meant. But Chuck hadn't been able to tell Bobby where Lucifer might have been holding the Angels, or really, to give him any further useful information. So after their conversation, Bobby had come back to his office to think about what he should do next. And that was when Patricia had come in. She had taken to just barging in whenever she felt like it, but Laurel let it slide because she knew that Patricia was sweet on Bobby, and vice versa.

Patricia WAS a little sweet on Bobby, but she had also grown a little impatient with him in the past few months. He was hardly ever even in the office any more. It had been ages since they'd had a real meeting. When Bobby had first taken the Office, she'd had high hopes for him as an administrator. She had a file folder stuffed with ideas about how things could and should be run, and she kept adding to it. But whenever she'd wanted to share some of those ideas with Bobby, they were always being interrupted. And it was always something with those Winchesters, or with Castiel and Gail. At times, Bobby stayed away from the office for days on end. If Patricia didn't know better, she would swear he had no interest in being God any more. And she had been disappointed by the company that Bobby kept, too. The few times she'd accompanied him to Earth, Patricia had seen his human friends behaving badly. She could pretty much understand that, though; she was a long-serving Angel, who was well aware of human flaws and vices. But it seemed as if these humans, the Winchesters in particular, were an extremely bad influence on the Angels that Bobby had designated to do the very important service of locating and dealing with Lucifer. Actually, when she really thought about it, the problem dated back even further than that. When Bobby had put Gail in charge of the board and they had begun to rewrite Heaven's rules, that was when the trouble had started. Back then, Patricia had thought that what they were doing was a good thing. Computers in Heaven? Wonderful. They had improved productivity by a wide margin, and many of the young Angels who were new arrivals were absolute geniuses with them. She herself had learned very much in the last couple of years. That had been Bobby's innovation, and when he had re-formed the board with Gail as Chairwoman and asked Patricia to sit, she had felt so honoured. Just imagine, two women on Heaven's board, helping to make important decisions. Who would have ever thought? She had been so proud. But even though Patricia had ended up voting the new laws through as written, she now regretted not having raised more of an objection to some of them. While Patricia was all for progress, she wasn't so sure it was a good idea to tell young Angels that they should feel free to express themselves physically. But she had gone along with everyone else when the final vote had come, because she could tell it meant so much to Bobby.

But now that Pandora's box had been opened, it seemed to Patricia that the Angels were doing more sinning than the Demons these days. And the Winchesters weren't the only problem. Patricia had slowly begun to realize that it was Gail and Castiel who were really setting the bad example. She had known what was going on between them for quite some time now. At first Patricia had been sympathetic to the couple, feeling that Xavier was persecuting them. They had been humans when they'd been in Las Vegas, and they shouldn't have been held to the same standards as Angels. But Xavier had badgered the couple, and he had brought up quite a few things from Castiel's past that hadn't really been Castiel's fault, Patricia had thought at the time. He had only been following Heaven's orders prior to his association with those Winchesters, and Patricia did not blame Castiel for what he had done while he had been in Heaven's service. Orders were orders. It was only when Castiel had been assigned to Earth as Dean Winchester's guardian that he had gone off the rails. And then Gail had come along and turned his head even further, and then things had begun to unravel. Patricia had lent the couple her support during the tribunal, but now they had too much free rein, in her opinion. Bobby either couldn't or wouldn't discipline them, from what she could see. Perhaps he was too soft-hearted, or maybe it was because he was reluctant to upset the Winchesters. But for whatever reason, Bobby let the couple do pretty much whatever they wanted to do, and now, Heaven was paying the price. She had seen Angels necking in corners when they should be working, and she had overheard some of the other Angels expressing their hopes to be assigned to Earth in the future so that they could enjoy some Earthly pleasures, such as drinking alcohol. Drinking alcohol! She'd had to check around the corners for Crowley, to make sure she wasn't actually in Hell.

Then she and Bobby had attended Gail's brother's wedding on Earth, and Gail had shocked Patricia with her behaviour. She had acted like a little tramp, imbibing alcohol and carrying on with Castiel in public. They hadn't even been married at the time. But then they had finally gotten married after all those years of living together, and Patricia had been anticipating a solemn, very formal ceremony, befitting an Angel of Castiel's stature. But although the ceremony had been performed by the Pope in one of the Vatican's oldest cathedrals, their vows had actually consisted of modern poetry and song lyrics, in place of the ancient vows. And to top it all off, Castiel had actually vowed obedience and subservience to Gail, not the other way around! Patricia had been beyond scandalized. Progress and modernization of certain methods was one thing, but they were taking things too far. And rumour also had it that the couple were responsible for the sudden burst of colour that had appeared in Heaven the night of the wedding. Patricia could only imagine what they had done in order to make that happen.

And now, they were gallivanting all over the world with the Winchesters, and Bobby was letting them. Patricia wasn't privy to all of the details, but it seemed to her that the inmates were running the asylum, and Heaven was about two steps away from total anarchy.

And that was what she had been thinking when Lucifer walked into Bobby's office.

"Hey, Roomie," Lucifer said to Bobby. "How's tricks?"

Bobby rose quickly from his chair and nudged Patricia behind him, purely out of instinct. How in the hell...? Balls! One of the youngsters must have fallen for his line of b.s. Bobby supposed he couldn't fault whichever of them it had been, though. Lucifer was extremely persuasive when there was something he wanted.

"And who is this fetching creature?" Lucifer said, pretending to crane his neck to look behind Bobby.

"That's none of your business," Bobby told him.

Lucifer smiled. "Oh, so that's the way it's gonna be, is it, Bobby? Very macho of you. Very Clint Eastwood. Apparently, you're under the impression that this is still your office."

Bobby frowned. "So, what, you're saying that it's yours?"

"Yes, and if you'll read your Bible, you'll see that I was here first, and that it's long overdue," Lucifer said, pleasantly enough. "Now, get your ass out of my office."

"Go to your office, Patricia," Bobby told her quietly.

Lucifer smiled. "What a gentleman. As if that would do any good." He crooked his little finger and moved Bobby aside. Then he motioned with his other hand, and Patricia was forced to walk around the desk and approach him. He made her stand so close that her body was actually touching his.

"You're a handsome woman," Lucifer said, looking down at her. "And I can tell you've been here in Heaven for quite a while. I'll bet you believe that a woman should be subservient to a man, don't you, Patricia?"

She looked at him, startled. Had he read her mind? He probably had; he was the Devil, after all. She hadn't known who he was when he'd first walked in, but she certainly knew now.

"You know, it's rude not to speak when God asks you a question," Lucifer said to her. There was a slight edge to his voice now.

"Bobby is God, not you," Patricia said in a hushed voice.

Lucifer looked over at Bobby, shaking his head slowly. "It looks like I got here just in time," he said. "Apparently, all of your women are lippy. But that's OK; I can fix that. It looks like I'll have to fix a lot of things around here." He looked down at Patricia again. "The first thing we'll have to do is teach our women some respect." He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her roughly to the floor. "You can worship me better from that position," Lucifer told Patricia, smirking. "And there's also something else you can do while you're down there, and that's something else that's long overdue."

"Don't," Bobby said in a strangled voice. Lucifer had him immobilized, but there was nothing he was going to be able to do, anyway. Lucifer's powers were far greater than his own. Bobby was broadcasting an urgent SOS to Castiel on Angel Radio, but so far, no Cas. He'd been calling constantly, too, ever since Lucifer had busted in. Where in the holy hell was he?

Lucifer continued to smirk. "Why not, Bobby?" he said in response to Bobby's protest. "Didn't you revise the laws in order to make such a thing possible? OK, maybe I don't exactly love the woman; we just met, after all. But you know what they say about Miss Right versus Miss Right Now, don't you? Besides, I'm sure she'll learn to love me. Or maybe she'll just lose her mind. Po-tay-to, poh-tah-to. At this point, I don't really care. Daddy just wants to get laid." He walked over to where Bobby stood. "But I don't want you watching. It might inhibit poor Patricia's performance. Or maybe even mine. I'll tell you what. Since you and I go way back, I'll do you a solid. I know you miss hanging around with the Winchesters, and I suspect you still have wet dreams about the bottles of bourbon you're missing out on here in Heaven. So I'll grant you your wish, Bobby. You never wanted to be God, anyway, not really. And I know that you haven't been God for, what is it, about a year now?"

Patricia gasped audibly, and Lucifer turned back around to look at her. "Oh, didn't he tell you about that?" he said, acting innocent. "I guess you two have better things to talk about, then." He turned back to Bobby. "But seeing as I'm kicking you out of your office, I'm willing to send you down to Earth, so you can have someplace to stay," Lucifer continued. He put his hand on Bobby's forehead, looking him in the eyes. "As a human." Lucifer grinned. "Sorry about that prostate cancer you're gonna get in a couple of years. It'll be a real bitch." The green glow emanated from his hand and enveloped Bobby's body. Then he gave Bobby the push, and once he was gone, Lucifer turned back around to look at Patricia.

"You're better off, my dear," he said to her. "Bobby's old and broken down. I, on the other hand, have never felt healthier in my life." He walked over to her and started to undo his pants. "And I promise you, what I lack in experience, I'll more than make up for in enthusiasm."

Patricia protested, and then she wept, but to no avail. Lucifer was done with being a virgin, and he wanted to start his new reign off on a good note. So, by the time that Bobby was pounding on the back door of the bunker for admittance, Lucifer was a very happy individual, and Patricia was forever changed.


	5. Bad Boys

Chapter 5 - Bad Boys

"What the hell?!" Dean exclaimed. He was coming out to the library area with his first cup of coffee of the morning, and he heard the pounding on the door. Who would be knocking there like that?

He climbed the stairs, yelling, "Who is it?"

"It's Bobby."

Dean frowned. Yeah, right.

"Open the door, ya idjit!" Bobby said impatiently. "Don't you recognize my voice when you hear it?"

"If it was really you, you would just pop in here," Dean said, quite logically.

Bobby was fuming. Dean was right, but: "I can't," he told Dean through the door. "Lucifer made me into a human again, so I can't pop anywhere, any more. Now, let me in. I've gotta take a whiz."

Dean thought about it. It sure sounded like Bobby. But it could also be someone else, impersonating Bobby to try to get in. Now that they had those Tablets on the premises, they had to be extra careful. "OK, Bobby. If it's really you, you'll be able to answer this question: Where was I, the weekend that you and Garth tried to reach me to help take care of that nest of shape-shifters in Lincoln, Nebraska?"

It made sense to Bobby that Dean would ask him a security question like that. Bobby didn't even think that Sam knew the answer to that question. "You claimed you were in a motel room all weekend with some girl, but you actually drove to Spokane, to get the cast of the X-Men movie to sign your favourite childhood comic book."

Dean broke into a smile. Yeah, this was Bobby, all right. He'd confessed to Bobby where he'd really been one night a couple of years ago, when they'd had a few too many and Sam had already gone to bed. Had Cas been there? Dean couldn't quite remember, but Dean and Bobby were the only two humans who knew what Dean had actually been up to that weekend.

He opened the door to let Bobby in. "What do you mean, Lucifer turned you into a human?" Dean asked him. "When did he do that?"

"He busted into my office a few minutes ago," Bobby replied, brushing past Dean to descend the stairs. "We've gotta do something, Dean. He's gonna make mincemeat out of those poor Angels. Where's Cas?"

"I don't know. We haven't seen him since we got back from Paris late last night," Dean answered. "He and Gail went to their house. Why don't you just call him on...Oh, yeah. Right."

Bobby scowled. "Before Lucifer did it, I sent out an emergency call. Several of them, in fact. But, no response. Nothing."

Crap, Dean thought. He could bet he knew what had happened. Cas and Gail had probably gone off the grid for a while. Dean knew that this particular mission had been really hard on both of them. Dean didn't get nearly as much credit as he probably deserved for his sensitivity in these matters. He knew how both of his Angel friends must have been feeling. Cas was feeling guilty about whatever he'd had to do back at the white supremacists' clubhouse. It was obvious to Dean that Cas had killed them all, and that was who Cas was trying not to be, any more. Dean knew that their friend would always stand with them to fight whatever monsters there were, but ever since Gail had come along, Dean also knew that Cas had been trying to back off the violence and use a more compassionate approach, whenever possible. And apparently, that had worked when it came to someone like Aurielle. But those guys had been a very different story. And, they had tried to go to the cops, but that hadn't worked. So, Cas had obviously taken matters into his own hands. Whatever he'd done, it was the right thing, in Dean's opinion. But he knew that Cas would be beating himself up about it, anyway. And Cas would also be doing penance, big time, for the way that he had spoken to and treated Gail, whether she required it from him or not. A part of Dean thought that a part of Gail might want a little penance. Dean probably would, if he were in her shoes. Actually, they should all be extra nice to her for the next little while. Gail had been treated like a piece of garbage by the whole lot of them for days, and even though she knew that none of them really felt that way about her or any other woman, it couldn't have been easy to be on the receiving end of it. So Dean could totally understand how Cas and Gail could have wanted to take a little private time for themselves, to sort out a few things. They probably needed to hash out any negative feelings either of them might still have about what had transpired over there. Cas had even hit her, for God's sake. Yeah, this one was going to take a little while for all of them to get past.

Dean considered telling some or all of this to Bobby, but Bobby was looking very angry right now, and he was rushing towards the hallway now.

"Where are you going, Bobby?" Dean asked him.

Bobby whirled on him. "I told ya, I've gotta take a whiz. And then you're gonna drive me over to Cas's house, and we're gonna have a little chat about him only being available when he feels like it."

"That's not really fair, Bobby," Dean protested. "Paris was very hard on him."

"Yeah, well, cry me a river," Bobby said irascibly. "Lucifer's running Heaven, and my arthritis is acting up now." He rushed down the hall and entered the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

"So, I guess we'd better go up and check in with Bobby, and then we'll get back to Quinn's place and see Linda," Cas said to Gail. He had his arms around her, and he was caressing her skin absently. She wondered if he had any idea how distracting that was. It was a good thing they weren't trying to work out a puzzle, or solve a mystery, or anything. Then she would have to ask him to stop it, so she could concentrate. In about a day or so.

It was early morning now, and the two of them had agreed that they would take one more hour for themselves, and then they would shower and get dressed. They had both laughed, and cried, in the past few hours, and they had talked some more, and made love some more. They were currently on a break from the latter activity, and they'd been talking about what might come next.

"You like the cold," Cas said to her. "Maybe we'll get to go to Alaska, or the Arctic Circle."

"Yeah. While it's still there," she said, nodding.

"Well, I think it would still be there as a geographic region, would it not?" Cas asked her, wrinkling his forehead.

Was he genuinely puzzled, or was he just teasing her now? Gail couldn't quite figure that out. But, in any event, she was determined to keep the conversation light. They had had their cry together, and their serious conversations about racism and womens' rights, as well as checking on the status of their own relationship. Despite the bruising it had sustained in Paris, their marriage remained stronger than ever.

"Hey, maybe we can go to the North Pole and give Santa our Christmas list," Gail joked. "That would certainly save us a lot of time."

"You've mentioned Christmas several times, recently," Cas pointed out.

Gail smiled. "I guess I have. I know that it's only November, but I think we need to start making some plans. Based on our past experiences, I'm thinking we may not even have all of the Tablets by then. I'd love it if we did, of course, but just in case we don't, I still think we need to take the time to have our Christmas. It's been a rough year, for everyone. We have a real home here, Cas, even though we've spent hardly any time in it. Just think, we'll have everyone over. You and the guys can build a fire, and we'll all decorate the tree. We'll buy a bunch of small presents for everyone, and then we'll put them under the tree. Then Barry can help me make a giant turkey dinner, and then we can all tell stories, or play games. Then we'll all stuff our faces, even the Angels, and then maybe we'll watch a couple of movies. The humans will start falling asleep then, and we can give them pillows and blankets. I hope it's really cold on Christmas Eve, so we can snuggle up together. Everybody'll spend the night here. The Angels, too. Then in the morning, Sam and I will cook the biggest breakfast the world has ever seen. If it snows, which I hope it will, of course, we can go out and play in the snow for a while. Whoever wants to, anyway. I know we only have one child in our group, but we could act like big kids too, for just a while. Maybe we could have a Best Snowman contest, and then I'll start a snowball fight with Dean, or Frank. Just one shot to the face with a snowball to either one of them, and it'll be on." Gail smiled again, when she thought about how that might go. Maybe they should choose teams. Frank and Dean would probably pick the bigger guys, and she would end up with Becky, Robbie, and Kevin. But that was OK. What the youngsters lacked in force they would make up for in enthusiasm, and if her team was comprised mainly of Angels, maybe they could use their Angel mojo to cheat, just a little bit. Should an Angel really be cheating to win a game on Christmas Day, of all days? That was for people higher up on the food chain for her to decide, but it would all be in good fun. Maybe she would Google the rules for paintball and see how that worked, as far as winners and losers went. Perhaps she could go to a trophy store and have one made up for each member of the winning team. Make it a yearly tradition. And, not that she was competitive or anything, but Gail fully intended to win. She could picture Dean smirking, picking Cas to be on his team. Fine, she would say, but you know that when it comes right down to it, I'll just give Cas the doe eyes, and there's no way he'll be able to do it, right? Then Dean's face would fall, and she would laugh. Then she would kiss him on the nose, and then she would run away.

Cas saw her smiling, and it did his heart good. She'd had so little to smile about in Paris. He could picture their Christmas just as she was describing it, and the prospect excited him. Surprisingly, for a being who had been around since the time of Creation, Castiel had never had a Christmas celebration such as the one she was describing before. He could tell just from the way that she was talking that it would mean a lot to her, but what she didn't know was that it would mean even more to him. He would do whatever she asked of him in order to make it happen for them. She could take him to the mall, and to the grocery store, and weigh him down with packages and bags. And, he was fairly certain that she might not be aware, but he could likely guarantee that she would have all the snow she wanted. The morning of Christmas Eve, before everyone got here, he would stand outside and think about how much he loved her and how badly she wanted a lot of snow, and the flakes would begin to fall. But he would try his very best to control it this time, or Dean's Baby would be parked in front of their house until spring.

"That all sounds wonderful," Cas told Gail. "Just let me know what you want me to do, and I'll do it. Anything you need."

"Well, right now, I need you to either stop touching me like that, or do something about it, because you're driving me crazy," she said, looking at him. His hand had drifted to her breasts by now, and he was lightly teasing her with his fingertips. He'd known that would be her reaction, of course. Their self-imposed hour would be up all too soon, and he wanted to make love to her one more time before they had to get out of bed and get down to business.

"You know which of those I'm going to choose, I'm sure," he told her, smiling, and he lowered his head to her body. He kissed and licked her as she held his head. Then he turned her body around to face her the other way and lowered her down onto himself. He pushed up into her and used his arms to caress the rest of her body. One of his hands was on her breasts and the other was between her legs, stroking her as he pushed into her. He kissed and licked her neck and her ear, telling her how much he loved her in a low, soft voice.

Cas pushed harder, and she began to make her sounds. "I love you too, Cas," she breathed. "I'm so glad I married you."

He moaned in her ear. There was nothing sexier to him than when Gail reminded him that they were married now. His arms tightened around her, and his fingers sped up their motion. "Cas!" Gail cried out, and he pushed forward one more time, feeling the warmth flow all the way through his body. He moaned softly again. "My wife," he said softly into her ear. He could feel the tingle all the way down to his toes. No matter how many times they made love, or in what position, Cas could never get over how she was able to make him feel. He only hoped that she felt even half as happy as he did.

"Let's cuddle for a few more minutes," Cas suggested. "Then we'll take our showers and get dressed."

Gail nodded, and she let Cas roll her over onto her side. He pulled the covers over them and spooned her, smiling. She lay there for a moment with her eyes closed, sighing contentedly.

Suddenly, there was a pounding at the front door of the house, and then the doorbell rang, again and again. Gail was startled. They had a doorbell? Who knew? Maybe if they could spend more than a couple of hours at a time here, she would know these things.

But whoever it was, they were certainly persistent. Cas rose immediately. He grabbed his shorts from the floor, and then he put on his pants. Gail sat up, and they exchanged glances. Crap, she thought. She had just realized that she had forgotten to turn the ringer on his cell phone back on, and she could just bet that his frequency was still shut off, as hers was. But then, nobody ever called her directly, they always called Cas. That was really no excuse, though. They should have reconnected after an hour or so. It seemed like every time they did that, they got so wrapped up in each other that they missed something important. The same thing had happened in Paris, when Robbie had been kidnapped.

Cas zipped up his pants and rushed out of the room as Gail scrambled off the bed. She looked around on the floor for her clothes, and then she abandoned that idea because it would take too long. She grabbed a nightshirt from the bureau, pulling it over her head and rushing after him.

"Open up, Cas!" Bobby was fuming now. He'd grown used to popping in and out of places, and having access to Angel Radio, and now he was back to doing things the human way. Sam and Dean had driven him over here and he had been calling Cas's cell the whole time, but it just rang and rang. No Voice Mail, even. The first thing Bobby was going to do when he saw Cas, after he took Cas's phone and hit him upside the head with it, was to show him how to set up his Voice Mail. Unbelievable.

Of course, there was always the possibility that they weren't home, but Bobby highly doubted that. He knew those two by now, and he had a pretty good idea what they'd been doing, and why they'd been unreachable. A small voice in the back of his brain said that it wouldn't have mattered. How the hell could Cas have prevented Lucifer's incursion into Heaven, even if he'd been sitting there holding his cell phone this whole time, waiting for it to ring? But Bobby told that voice to shut up. He was angry, and he was scared, and he needed to take it out on somebody besides Sam and Dean.

"Bobby?" Cas said through the door. "Is that you?"

Bobby rolled his eyes in exasperation. Why did everybody keep asking him that? Who did he sound like? "No. It's the Avon lady," he growled. "Open up!"

Cas looked through the peephole and saw Bobby, Sam and Dean standing behind him. Cas's mind was working furiously. If that really was Bobby, why wouldn't he have just called on Angel Radio? But now, Cas remembered: he had forgotten to switch back on. He'd just been so stressed out from the mission, and he and Gail had been so sweetly reconnecting with each other, that he had neglected to put it back on.

"What's going on, Bobby?" Cas asked, still speaking through the door. The thought that the man could be an impostor had briefly occurred to him, but the fact that Cas could also see Sam and Dean in the background suggested to him that was highly unlikely.

"What's going on?!" Bobby exclaimed. "What's going on is that Lucifer's gotten into Heaven, and he's made me into a very angry human who's gonna kick your ass if you don't open this door in the next two seconds!"

Cas yanked the door open. "Lucifer's in Heaven?" he said, shocked. "How did that happen?"

Bobby pushed past Cas into the house, and Sam and Dean followed. Dean gave Cas a half-shrug, but he knew better than to say anything right now. When Bobby got this mad, it was best to say as little as possible until he cooled down a bit.

Bobby wheeled on Cas. "How the hell do you think? He conned one of the young Angels into it. I'm sure that's what happened. And before you ask me who, save your breath. He just kicked me out of my own office, and he changed me back into a human, to boot. So I can't get back up there, and I can't even call anybody to ask what's going on!"

Cas's heart sank as Bobby continued, "He's got Patricia, Cas. As soon as he showed up, I sent you the SOS, but then he sucked the Angel out of me and sent me down to the bunker. I guess I was lucky there; he could have sent me to Borneo, or Mars. But he's up there now, and God only knows what he's planning." Bobby was frantic about Patricia. He could only imagine what Satan would be capable of doing to her. And he wouldn't put anything past him, either. They'd all had it too easy for too long. Having weddings, buying houses, flitting all around the world. Like it made any damn difference. Who the hell cared about stone Tablets now? The Devil's ass was in God's chair, and they were all toast.

"I hope you're happy, Cas," Bobby said harshly. "Satan has taken over Heaven and the Earth is doomed, and all because you were thinking with your penis instead of your head."

Gail came barreling out of the hallway. She had been standing there looking at all of the men, her mouth hanging open in shock. She'd heard most of what Bobby had said, and she knew that this didn't look good. Cas was standing there, bare-chested, with his hair sticking out in all directions. And she was coming out here, dressed only in a nightshirt. She hadn't even taken the time to put on any underwear. Now she felt terrible, and she could tell from the expression on Cas's face that he did, too. But Bobby wasn't exactly being fair. Even if they'd been tuned in, or Cas had had his cell phone on, what would Bobby have had Cas do? If Cas could have defeated Lucifer by himself, didn't Bobby think he would have done it by now? Why the hell did Bobby think they were working so hard to get those damn Tablets, anyway? So they could rack up frequent flyer miles?

"Bobby!" she exclaimed. "If Lucifer is in Heaven, it's not Cas's fault!"

"Are you suggesting it's mine?" Bobby said angrily, turning to look at her.

"I'm not suggesting anything like that," Gail protested. Although, now that he'd mentioned it...But she'd better not say what she was really thinking right now. She knew Bobby well enough by now to know that he was about ready to erupt. And then, if Cas lost his own temper, she didn't hold out much hope for the happy family Christmas she'd been envisioning. And if Bobby said anything disparaging about her to Cas, right now, that would be it.

But when she looked at her husband to gauge his temperament, he was just standing there, looking dejected. And Sam and Dean just stood there as well, saying nothing. Cowards.

"And if you HAD been able to reach Cas, what exactly would you have expected him to do?" Gail asked Bobby coolly.

Bobby opened his mouth, then closed it again. As usual, Gail had cut through all of the extraneous b.s. to the heart of the matter. Bobby knew that there was nothing that Cas would have been able to do.

"It doesn't matter," Cas said in a subdued voice. "I should have been available, anyway."

"Fine," Gail said in a clipped tone. "You're available now. What should he do, Bobby?"

Bobby glared at her momentarily, but then his shoulders slumped and he sighed. "I don't know, Gail. All I know is that he was there with Patricia, and I'm scared for her, and for Laurel, and for all of them. There was nothing I could do to protect any one of them, and now I'm a human, so I'm next to useless." He looked at Cas. "I'm sorry, Cas. It's not you I'm mad at, it's me. This whole thing's my fault. But you're all we have left now, Cas. You and Gail. Is there anything you can do? Anything at all?"

Cas felt even more uncomfortable now. He could relate to Bobby's frustration with himself. The guilt was coming off of Bobby in waves, and Cas felt great empathy for him. Cas frowned. "Please take a seat in the living room. Let's strategize," Cas said.

Gail breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God they seemed to remember that they were all on the same side here. They all moved into the living room and sat down together to brainstorm.

Crowley was sitting at his desk in Hell, drumming his fingers on the desktop. Things had been a little too quiet lately, and the silence was making him uneasy. Ever since he had delivered Paul to Castiel, there hadn't been a peep out of any of them. Castiel hadn't called Crowley back, nor had Paul returned to Hell. His Brother and his bride were still shielded, so Crowley couldn't see them, nor had he heard from any of their lot. And of course, Crowley had no idea what Lucifer was up to, either. The daily operations of Hell went on as they always had, but none of the Demons he had sent topside had returned, and the steady flow of souls he was used to receiving had slowed to a trickle.

Damn Lucifer. This was all his fault. Crowley's Kingdom was withering on the vine, all because the Devil was the more attractive option right now. And quite frankly, why shouldn't he be? He was letting his acolytes roam free on Earth, enjoying Earthly pleasures and doing unspeakable things. But what was Lucifer's endgame? He had been free for quite some time now, and aside from forming that fake Ministry, playing with some Angels, and killing Linda Tran, Lucifer hadn't really done all that much. What the hell was he waiting for? What did he want?

Waiting for the other shoe to drop was excruciating, and it was ridiculous. Crowley needed to take some kind of action. But, what could he do? Like it or not, he could not take Lucifer on by himself. That would be suicide. Crowley had been aiding Castiel in the retrieval of those damned Tablets, but the process was proving to be slow as molasses, and Crowley was becoming increasingly irrelevant with every hour that passed.

He eyed the crystal decanter on his desk longingly, but then he shook his head. That was not the answer to this particular question. But nor was just sitting around here, being passive.

Crowley snapped his fingers and appeared on a park bench a few blocks away from the bunker. A woman was walking down the pathway holding a toddler's hand, and the child took one look at Crowley and began to weep and wail. Crowley smiled wryly. At least there was someone he still had the capacity to scare.

He sat there for a few minutes, enjoying the chilly morning air. Crowley actually shared a fondness for cooler temperatures with his sister-in-law. Which was rather ironic, when you thought about it. Or maybe it wasn't ironic at all. There was only so much heat a person could take, especially when that particular person was always dressed to the nines in designer suits and patent leather shoes.

Crowley sighed. There was nothing for it. He had even sent both Castiel and Gail messages on their private frequencies, but they weren't answering. Typical. He'd thought about calling Bobby on the Hotline, but Crowley was well aware that Bobby wasn't God any more, even though not a one of them would confirm that out loud, of course. No, Bobby would be of no use to him in this situation.

He took out his cell phone, regarding it for a moment. Should he call over there? And what kind of statement would he be making if he did? THEY usually called HIM. Both sides had called the opposing one for help from time to time over the years, but lately, the scales had been heavily tipped in Crowley's favour. It was always them needing his help, and he had always provided it, hinting at the possibility of asking them for a huge repayment of the debt at the end. But really, what could he ask them to do for him? Kill Lucifer? They were already working on that, or at least, on a way to lock him away again. Help him to rebuild Hell? Right. Like that was going to happen. Once Lucifer was defeated, Crowley saw no reason why he should not be next on Castiel's list.

And he would almost welcome that, at this point. Crowley was tired. Hell was stagnant, and nobody there seemed to respect him anymore, or even care that he was still the King of the damned place. Maybe he should have listened to Paul and revised Hell's methods; modernized things. But it was difficult for Crowley to let go of some of the ancient ways and ideals. Just because something was modern didn't automatically mean that it was better. He firmly believed there was still something to be said for many of the old ways.

Having said that, Crowley had a cell phone in his hand right now, and he was staring down at it, contemplating. Had Lucifer been right? Should the King of Hell just renounce his throne altogether and perpetrate the ultimate defection? Would they even want him? Or were the years of enmity between them simply too much to overcome? He would be a terrific asset to Team Free Will. Or was that still what they called themselves? It might be more like Team Romance these days, what with the likes of Castiel and Gail and Frank and Jody leading the way. There was even a gay couple living there now. Not Crowley's particular flavour, though he sometimes liked to joke that it might be, just to keep people guessing. Part of the spice of life was keeping everyone a little off balance, at least in his opinion. Most beings that he dealt with wouldn't know it because he almost never showed it, but Crowley did enjoy a laugh sometimes. That was one reason why he'd liked Gail so much. She was just about the only one of them that could make him laugh, although Dean did amuse him sometimes, as well. If they could only bring themselves to accept him, he could bring his considerable powers to the table, including the really big one: the power to revive. Everybody wanted that one, but Crowley was the only Original left who still had it, as far as he knew. Gail had never had it, and both Castiel and Lucifer had had it once, but God had taken it away from them. The only question was whether Metatron still had it. But even if he did, he had disappeared off the grid after he and Lucifer had escaped the cage. Crowley had no way of knowing where Metatron was because he too was shielded, and Crowley didn't know that Castiel and Gail had encountered him recently, because the couple hadn't shared that information with him.

Good guy, or bad? Yin, or yang? Crowley stared off into the distance, daydreaming. He had been both, in past incarnations. He imagined himself to be back in olden times again. At one point, he had ruled all of England, and he had been a good man. Could he try to gain back some of the respect and goodwill he'd had then, if he just did things differently? Could he truly be the hero he so badly wanted to be?

VIGNETTE - ONCE UPON A TIME

Arthur was very excited. After what had felt like a lifetime of waiting, he was finally going to meet her today. He looked in the mirror that was hanging on the wall opposite his bed. He wasn't the most handsome man in the Kingdom, but he certainly wasn't the ugliest, either. He still had all of his own teeth, and he hadn't had dysentery for months. And, he still had hair, though it was admittedly thinning a bit on top. But that was what came from wearing a crown all the time. His eyes were clear, though, and his beard was still dark, and neatly trimmed. Plus, he was King of all England. Being the most powerful and influential man in his corner of the world was a real selling point.

But he had sown his wild oats for the most part, and now he was looking forward to the next chapter in his life. His bride-to-be was finally here.

Arthur and Guinevere had been promised to each other when they had been mere teenagers, but the two of them had never met. He assumed it was one of those types of situations where a greater alliance between two countries was sought by bringing the bloodlines of the two realms together. That was just the way that things were done, and truthfully, Arthur didn't care all that much. He knew that he had to have a Queen, so that one day he could have an heir. Hopefully, this Guinevere would be tolerable. And it wouldn't hurt if she were decent to look at, as well. But even if she was an absolute bowser, as long as her disposition was sweet and submissive, they could make it work. When the time came to do the deed and create the heir, if he needed to, he could just close his eyes and think of one of the chambermaids. The castle had a few cute ones, most of whom had already serviced the King at one time or another. That was also the way that things worked, back then.

King Arthur's manservant dressed him, and then he made his way downstairs to the throne room. There was a tiny woman standing there waiting, and as soon as she saw him, she sank to her knees. Just as his heart sank when he saw her. He hadn't seen her face for more than an instant because she was bowing low now, but she had long, flaming red hair. Arthur hated red hair. He couldn't even have any servants in the castle that had red hair, that was how averse he was to it. It was funny, really. He had no idea why that should be. Perhaps he'd had a red-haired nanny as a baby who'd been cruel to him, or something. His mother and father were both dead now, so he couldn't ask them. In any event, at least she was kneeling and bowing with respect, so that was a point in her favour. Maybe he could get her to cut her hair very short, and then there wouldn't be as much of it to have to look at. Or maybe she would be willing to have the colour altered. He didn't know too much about that kind of thing, but as far as he'd heard, there were certain plants that could be ground up and made into some kind of paste that women could apply to their hair to change its colour. Maybe he should tell her that he required her to do that before the wedding and see what she said.

"You may rise," King Arthur said to the woman. She stood, but kept her head bowed. She was obviously quite shy. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. It could be kind of exciting, actually. "You may look upon me, Guinevere," he told her.

"Oh, I'm not Guinevere, Your Majesty," she answered, and as she lifted her head, he did a double-take. Thank God. This woman was considerably older than he had expected Guinevere to be, and she was just a little slip of a woman. The thought of taking this woman to his bed...yech. He breathed a sigh of relief. Also, she spoke with a Scottish brogue, and Arthur disliked the sound of that accent so much that he'd actually had a couple of the kitchen staff who happened to speak that way executed, just so he didn't have to hear it any more. But, like the aversion to red hair, he had no idea where that had even come from.

"Then who are you?" he said irritably.

"I'm her handmaiden, Rowena," the woman said demurely. And that was all she said.

Arthur let out a frustrated breath, rolling his eyes. He supposed he'd better try to keep his temper right now. It would not do to have his fiancee's personal servant executed on the eve of their wedding. "Where is Guinevere?" he asked, as patiently as he could.

"She's out front of the castle, smelling the flowers in your garden," Rowena replied. "Majesty," she added.

Arthur's brow furrowed. Interesting. "Wait here," he ordered Rowena. He walked down the aisle of the throne room, turned down the corridor, and exited the castle. And sure enough, there was a short, dark-haired woman standing with her back to him, admiring the flowers. Thank God she was a brunette. And she shouldn't be speaking with a Scottish accent, since she was from the Kingdom of France. So far, so good. She was short, but she looked like she had a pleasing enough shape. Now he just had to get her to turn around. He crossed his fingers.

"Are you enjoying the Royal Garden?" he asked aloud.

Guinevere turned around to look at him, and she was smiling. "Yes, I - " Her smile faltered as she saw him and noticed that he was wearing the crown.

Arthur smirked. He liked seeing the reactions on peoples' faces when they suddenly realized that they were addressing the King of England.

"You...what?" he asked her.

"King Arthur?" she said, her forehead wrinkling. And incredibly, not only was she not kneeling, she was walking towards him.

"Do you not see the crown on my forehead?" he said, puzzled. Oh, please, let her not be stupid. She could even be redheaded if she wasn't stupid.

Guinevere smiled. "Of course I do. I'm not blind, and I'm not stupid, either. You just look younger than I expected you to look. I was expecting an old fuddy-duddy, to be honest with you. I've got to tell you, I'm relieved."

Arthur was disarmed by her manner. It was kind of refreshing that she didn't seem to be intimidated by him. It would be much easier to be married to her if she didn't flee in terror every time he entered the room. And she had paid him a nice compliment, too. He dipped his head in acknowledgement, and his crown slipped a little. Guinevere giggled, and then she clapped a hand over her mouth. Arthur righted his crown, and now he was grinning.

"As am I," King Arthur said in response to her comment. "I'm very pleased to meet you, my Lady." He reached his hand out to her. She took it, and he lifted it to his mouth, kissing it lightly. He continued to look at her. "Guinevere. That's an unusual name," he continued. "Is it French?"

She smiled again. "Welsh, believe it or not. But I don't generally go by it. It's so formal, and nobody can spell or pronounce it properly, anyway. So it's Gail, to my friends."

He let go of her hand. "Are we going to be friends, Gail?"

She lifted an eyebrow. "I certainly hope so, if we're to be married," she replied.

"'If'?" Arthur echoed, puzzled. "What do you mean, 'if'? The plans are already in place. We wed tomorrow."

Gail's smile faded. "Not if I don't want to, we don't. Look, Arthur, I know I've been promised to you, but if you're going to beat me, or treat me as less than an equal, I'm out of here."

He stared at her, astonished. He'd never heard a woman speak this way before. Was it because she was French, perhaps? "An equal?" he said incredulously. "But, you're a woman!"

"And, if I marry you tomorrow, I'm going to be Queen of England," she said in a reasonable tone. "I'm not saying I want to make all the decisions, or anything like that. I'm just saying that I'd like to help you, as a partner. I want to be productive, and I want to help us build a Kingdom that we can be proud of. I could be a real asset to you, Arthur. I'm very smart, and I've got a lot of good ideas. All I ask is that you treat me as I ought to be treated. I don't think that's too much to ask, do you?"

"I suppose not," Arthur said, dazed.

"Good," she said pertly. "Now, what's for dinner? I'm starving!" She walked past him towards the front entrance of the castle, and after a moment, he trailed behind, smiling.

"Have you lost your mind?" Arthur said to his wife.

"I beg your pardon?" she said, lifting an eyebrow. "Would you care to rephrase that?"

He smiled. "All right, I will. I KNOW you've lost your mind."

Gail's lips twitched. She threw her napkin down on the table and rose from her chair. "Well, seeing as I've been married to you for just over a year now, I could see how that could be a possibility."

Arthur laughed. She never failed to amuse him. He was very glad she had consented to marry him that day. She was a very capable Queen, and they got along well. Their subjects loved her to pieces, because she had a personable manner and a common touch. But she was not a common person; not at all. She was cute, she was intelligent, and she lit up a room just by entering it. Arthur was totally besotted with her. There was only one problem, and that was that Guinevere didn't feel the same way about him. But she did like him very much, she'd told him. Give her some time, and her feelings might grow into love. So he'd been patient, and he'd spent a lot of time with her, being at his most charming. Hoping that she would one evening invite him into her bedchamber.

But in the meantime, they did enjoy each others' company, and she did have a lot of good ideas about improvements that could be made in the running of the Kingdom. He had already implemented many of her suggestions. But the one she was making now was outrageous.

"A round table?" he said. She was already leaving the room, so he hurried to catch up with her.

"Yes," she replied. "Didn't you say you wanted to create an atmosphere of open and honest dialogue with your senior Knights?"

"As I recall, it was you who said that," he pointed out.

Now she was grinning, and she waved her hand airily. "Whatever. Details. The point is, you agreed. So if you have a round table, you'll all sit around it as equals."

"But we're not equals," Arthur argued, quite logically. "I'm the King."

Gail stopped walking and looked up at him. "Fine. Be the King. But the table should be round."

Arthur let out a breath. She was the most exasperating woman he'd ever met. So bold. So stubborn. "I love you," he blurted out.

She gave him a little smile. "I know." She reached up and touched his cheek for an instant. "And you've been very kind, and very patient with me. Much more than I deserve, really."

"That's not true," he disagreed, smiling gently. "You're a good woman, Gail, and a good Queen. Everyone in the Kingdom loves you. It's just that I'm your husband, and I'd like to love you, too. And I feel compelled to point out that it's my right to do so. I am the King, you know. I could order you to come to my bed."

Guinevere laughed merrily. "That's a good one, Arthur."

His smile disappeared. "Who says I'm joking? Look, I've been patient, as you yourself have acknowledged. But you're my wife, and as such, you're supposed to be obedient and subservient to me."

"I didn't agree to that the day we met, and I don't agree to it now," she retorted.

Arthur sighed. "Do you think there will ever be a time that you will come to my bedchamber of your own free will?"

"Perhaps," she said thoughtfully. "I know it's not fair to you, and I know that you should have an heir. But it's not as if you're doing without. I know that a few of the house maids have visited you there."

Arthur shrugged. "I would send them all away, if you would come instead."

"We'll see," Gail said noncommittally. She started to walk again. "In the meantime, get that table. You'll see I'm right."

He started after once more, but then he stopped. If he followed her now, there would be an argument. He'd better let well enough alone for now. She hadn't exactly ruled it out, had she? And he should know better by now. She wouldn't respond to orders, and she wouldn't respond to threats. It was difficult, but he would have to force himself to remain patient. She was right; he certainly wasn't doing without, in the meantime. But the servant girls were too meek, too submissive. Arthur wanted Gail. He could just picture her underneath him, telling him what she wanted him to do to her. And he would do whatever she asked of him, because the happier he made her in bed, the happier she would make him. He was certain that her philosophy would be one of mutual satisfaction, and that was quite all right with him. If he pushed her and then she pushed back, well then, they would both feel good, wouldn't they?

She wanted a round table, did she? So he would get one. If the experiment was a success, everyone would be talking about how progressive and forward-thinking the King of England was. If it was a failure, perhaps Guinevere would be knocked down a peg or two. And if that was the case, she would probably be more vulnerable to him, the next time he brought the subject of his bedchamber up.

Arthur continued to walk down the hall, and now, he was whistling.

The Knights were all sitting around the table a few months later. Their business had been concluded for the day, and now they were sharing ale and swapping stories.

"Slide that pitcher over here, Majesty," Sir Dean said.

Arthur smiled, and he did as Dean requested. "I told you, call me Arthur doing social hour," he reminded Dean and the other Knights. Then he lifted an eyebrow. "But only during social hour. We can't have the Kingdom descending into total anarchy." The Knights all laughed as Arthur went on, "During social hour, every man around this table has the right to say whatever he wants to me. Feel free to make any suggestions for improvements to the Kingdom, or air any grievances that you may have. Guinevere told me she believes it's important to be able to speak freely with your superior, at times. She said that people are happy when they feel they're being heard." He smiled wryly. "And she ought to know. She makes sure to make herself heard every day, over every meal." He rolled his eyes comically, and the Knights laughed again.

"Very well," Sir Francis said. "If that's truly the case, and we may speak freely, I do have a suggestion."

"Yes, Frank? What is it?" the King asked him.

Frank banged his empty glass on the table. "I suggest we tap another keg."

Arthur grinned. "An excellent suggestion. Would you go and get us another, Sir Charles?"

Chuck sighed. Why was it always him? But he said nothing. They could talk about free speech all they liked, but he preferred his head the way it currently was: attached to his shoulders. Just because the table was round didn't mean that all who sat at it were truly equals. When it came to the King, some of the Knights were more equal than others. That was just the way it was.

"I'll help," Sir Mordred said to him. Charles tried not to smile. Mordred was a short, squat, nebbish little man who was far better suited to wielding a quill pen than a sword. But he had been the King's Scribe for years, so he had been given an honourary seat at the table.

"OK, you're on," Charles said to Mordred, and they left the room. Just as they were exiting, one of the servants poked his head in the doorway.

"Your Majesty," he said, bowing low. "My deepest apologies for the interruption, but I'm to tell you that Sir Lancelot has arrived."

Sir Lucifer looked up sharply. "Who?"

"Lancelot du Lac," Arthur told him. "The King of France's representative. Here with news of France, I imagine." He looked at the servant. "Tell him to come in here."

"What's a representative of France doing here?" Sir Samuel asked curiously.

Arthur shrugged. "I have no idea, Sam. As far as I know, everything's fine over there. We'll have a chat with him, though. He can sit down and have a tankard or three with us, and then I'll take him to see Guinevere. I'm sure she'll be glad to hear any news of her home. And she'll probably enjoy speaking a little French, too. So few people here speak it."

Than Dean made a rude comment about the French, and the Knights all laughed. Even Arthur laughed. Sir Dean could certainly be amusing at times, and he would know better than to say anything like that around the Queen.

A few minutes later, Sir Lancelot was ushered into the room. He got down on one knee immediately, but Arthur told him to rise.

"I appreciate the gesture, but it's social hour," King Arthur said, getting off his chair. He approached the Knight and put out his hand for him to shake. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Arthur."

Lancelot looked at him in surprise, then he extended his own hand and shook with Arthur, smiling. "Sir Lancelot. I'm at your service, Majesty."

"The only service I need at the moment is another tankard of ale," Arthur said, looking around the room impatiently. "Where's that keg?"

"Moving as fast as we can," Charles huffed, bringing the keg into the room. Mordred trailed behind him, but Sir Charles was the only one doing the heavy lifting. Typical.

Dean and Samuel moved forward to help Charles with his burden, and the three men slammed the keg onto the table.

"Careful with the Queen's table," warned Arthur good-naturedly enough. "It's bad enough that I've had to face her and admit what a rousing success it's been. If you break it, there'll be hell to pay."

Lancelot looked at him curiously. "But why would that be? As her husband and as King, you are her Master, are you not?"

Arthur raised his eyebrows as the Knights all laughed at the question. "Wait until you meet Guinevere," he said dryly. "You'll find that it's quite the opposite. Pour our guest some ale, Sir Charles, and we'll talk."

The Knights had stumbled drunkenly out of the castle an hour or two after that, and Arthur brought Lancelot to the dining room for the evening meal.

Guinevere was already there, and she was sipping from a goblet of wine, waiting for Arthur to arrive. No matter how hungry she was, the staff would not serve any food before the King got there. Queen or not, he still outranked her as far as everyone else was concerned.

She had waited a little longer than usual tonight, and she was already lightheaded from lack of nourishment, and because she had nearly finished her second goblet of wine by now. Apparently, she could have as much of THAT as she wanted. The house staff must be rooting for an heir.

Arthur finally walked in, accompanied by a man Gail had never seen before. He was tall, with dark hair, striking blue eyes, and a strong jawline. Her eyes widened. There was something about this man. Who was he? She rose from her chair and walked over to the men.

"Your Highness," Sir Lancelot said. He knelt in front of her and bowed his head.

Guinevere looked at Arthur, and he gave her a half-shrug. The King was feeling the effects of the ale he'd drunk, and he smirked at the expression on her face. For the daughter of a King, he would have thought she'd be more used to this sort of thing.

"Get up, Lancelot," Arthur said, nudging the Knight. "You're just confusing her."

Gail made a face at Arthur as Lancelot rose. "My husband is obviously in his cups, and he thinks he's being funny," she said to the Knight. "Please, call me Guinevere. I don't stand much on ceremony." She extended her hand for him to take. But as soon as he took it and she looked into his eyes, Gail suddenly felt nervous, for some reason. He was so handsome, and his eyes were so blue. Was she really that shallow? No, there had to be more to it than that. Arthur had a few very good-looking Knights in his service, and she had had dealings with all of them at one time or another. But there was something different about this man. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it softly. "I am forever at your service, Guinevere," he said, still staring at her.

Gail's knees were trembling now. She gave him a brief smile and took her hand back from him, returning to her seat at the table. She took a big swallow of wine and then gestured to the chairs. "Have a seat, Sir...Lancelot, was it?"

"Oui," he replied. "Sir Lancelot du Lac."

"'Of the lake'," she said, intrigued. "There's got to be a story behind that somewhere."

"Lancelot's got many interesting stories," Arthur enthused. He gestured to the Knight. "Sit, sit." Lancelot started to move away to the other side of the table, but Arthur caught his arm. "Sit between me and my wife," he said to Lancelot. "I know she would like to hear your news of France, and the two of you can speak a little French, if you like."

Lancelot sat beside the Queen. "You know French?" he asked her, surprised.

She smiled. "Somewhat. I have to admit I'm very out of practice. No one here speaks it."

"But, your name is Welsh," he blurted out. "It means 'The White Enchanctress'."

Guinevere looked at him, bemused. "Is THAT what it means?" she said. "I've always wondered. I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted."

Now Lancelot was the one who was flustered. What had he gone and said that for? She had unnerved him, that's what it was. She was staring at him with her big, brown eyes, and her hand had been so soft and warm. He had never felt this way when a woman had looked at him before. But now he had insulted her.

"I beg your pardon, my Queen," he stammered. "I meant no disrespect."

Arthur was smiling. He poured Lancelot some wine and thrust the glass into the Knight's hand. "Don't feel bad. My wife has that effect on men," he told Lancelot. "Here, have some wine." Arthur looked at Gail. "Would you like some more, sweetheart?"

"Yes, please," Gail said, holding her goblet out. Her arm stretched across Lancelot's body, and it grazed his chest. He looked down at her arm, then at her face. She was leaning somewhat tipsily close to him now, and her face was very near his. He felt a sudden, mad urge to kiss her. What was wrong with him?

"I'd like to propose a toast," Arthur said heartily. "To the Kingdom, to the round table, and to the Queen. Long may they all last."

Guinevere leaned even closer towards Lancelot, and now he could feel her breath tickling his ear. "You'll note how I came last on that list," she said dryly.

"You could never be last on anyone's list," Lancelot said charmingly, trying to make up for his gaffe a moment ago. "That couldn't possibly happen." Then he smiled, and his face transformed. Now he wasn't just handsome; he was beautiful. His blue eyes were sparkling now. Guinevere sat back in her chair quickly. For a moment there, she'd had a crazy impulse to nuzzle his cheek with hers. What was wrong with her?

"It's funny," Arthur said to both of them. "You say my wife is the White Enchantress? That, I can believe. But you also told me that they call you the White Knight."

"What's funny about that?" Gail said sharply.

"All right, maybe it's not funny, so much as it is a coincidence," the King said, a trifle irritably.

Dinner was served, and even though Lancelot had been travelling for quite some time with very little sustenance, he was finding it difficult to eat. Guinevere had asked him about what was happening back in France, and they had been speaking to one another in French. But then he had become aware that their talk was excluding the King, so he switched back to English, telling them that the King of France had sent him here on a mission of goodwill. Word had spread about the round table, and the brave Knights who sat around it.

Gail smiled at Arthur, and he smiled back. He had to give her proper credit; the round table had been one of her best ideas.

"The King of France was hoping that you would be generous enough to allow me to sit at the table for a while as a guest, to observe your methods," Lancelot said to Arthur.

"Certainly," Arthur replied, nodding. "Anything for my father-in-law."

Lancelot was startled. He looked at Guinevere. "The King of France is your father?"

She smiled. "Oui. I thought you knew that."

"But I've served him for years!" he exclaimed. "How is it that we've never met before?"

She shrugged, taking another sip of wine. She'd had quite a bit to drink by now, but she needed something to do with her hands. She kept wanting to reach out and touch him. A couple of times as they were talking, she had put her hand on his arm, a habit of hers. But he had looked so disconcerted by it that she'd had to remove it immediately. "You were probably out, on one of your many noble quests," she said lightly.

He gave her a faint smile. "I suppose I probably was," he replied. "But had I known that you were in the castle, I might not have taken on so many missions, mon petit bijou."

Gail's head was spinning. She'd had way too much wine now, and he was being way too sweet. She had to get out of there before she did something that would get them both beheaded.

"I have a headache," she announced. She stood abruptly and hurried out of the room.

Lancelot stared after her, cursing himself. She'd left so suddenly, she hadn't even given him the opportunity to rise. And they'd been having such a wonderful conversation, too. He had obviously offended her when he'd slipped and used the French term of endearment. He had no idea what had possessed him to call the King's wife that. He'd had too much to drink; that had to be the reason. It surely couldn't have anything to do with the fact that it had taken every ounce of self-control that he had not to turn to her, wrap his arms around her, and kiss her right on her mouth.

"I apologize for my wife's rudeness," Arthur said to him. "She usually doesn't drink that much."

Lancelot shrugged. "No apologies necessary. We've all overindulged from time to time. Are you going to go to her? You and I can speak some more tomorrow, if you will allow me to spend the night in one of your spare rooms."

"Nonsense," Arthur said. "I'll assign you a room in the Royal Wing of the castle, as our honoured guest. But right now, we'll have another drink, and you will share more of your exploits."

"But what about Guinevere?" Lancelot asked, puzzled.

The King shrugged now, pouring them both some more wine. "What about her?" he asked. "She'll sleep it off in her bedchamber, and tomorrow morning she'll likely have a much bigger appetite for breakfast than you or I will."

Lancelot was surprised. He wondered if the King was angry with his wife, for some reason. If she was Lancelot's wife, he would have excused himself from the table immediately, and hurried after her. If she truly had a headache, he would put a cold cloth on her head and lay down with her, talking softly to her. Or he could lightly massage her temples. He pictured himself sitting up in bed, holding her, gently kissing her forehead. She would be smiling, telling him that his kisses had chased her headache away. Then she would turn around and kiss him on the lips in appreciation, and he would lay her back against the pillows, and...

He'd better stop it. What the hell was wrong with him, thinking about the King's wife this way? The King was looking at him curiously now. Lancelot knew he had a dreamy smile on his face, and he had been getting excited, carried away by his fantasy. Fortunately, his napkin was still in his lap from dinner.

King Arthur raised his goblet. "A toast. To the beginning of a long, fruitful association."

Sir Lancelot smiled. The King was being very gracious. Very hospitable. Lancelot would just have to put Guinevere out of his mind and focus on his service to the King. He lifted his goblet in answer to the toast.

A couple of months passed, and Sir Lancelot had turned out to be the finest Knight in the Kingdom, and the best companion that King Arthur had ever known. The two were practically inseparable. There was peace in the realm, so Arthur had no need of Lancelot's fighting skills. But his Chief Knight still trained every day, stating that he believed in staying sharp. So he would train with the other Knights in the courtyard in back of the castle. As the summer got hotter, the men would strip to the waist and work out until the heat of the day became too much for them. Then, most of the Knights would lounge around in the shade and start drinking ale. But Lancelot would keep going, sometimes driving himself to the point of heat prostration. If he had no sparring partner, he would practice on a straw dummy. He was disciplined, and he was relentless. King Arthur owed him a huge debt of gratitude. When Lancelot had first arrived in the Kingdom, the Knights had become complacent and lazy. It was difficult to keep them sharp in peacetime. But when Lancelot had come along, with his dedicated work ethic and his saintly disposition, he had led by example, and the other Knights had had to pull up their bootstraps. Arthur had smiled when he'd watched some of them try to keep up with Lancelot. But here they were, months later, and now they were all fit, and their reflexes were sharp again. What a find Lancelot had been. He was well-liked by everyone in the Kingdom, he was deferential, and he was courtly and polite to Guinevere whenever she was around. But the Queen acted cool towards Lancelot, and she didn't tarry too long when he was present. Arthur couldn't figure it out. Maybe Lancelot was too arrogant for her taste, or to put it more diplomatically, too self-confident. The guy was pretty much perfect, from everything Arthur could see. It seemed as though Guinevere didn't quite know how to act around Sir Lancelot, and vice versa. But the King continued to encourage interactions between the two, because he wanted his wife and his best friend to love each other, just as he loved both of them.

For his part, Lancelot spent an inordinate amount of time trying to avoid interacting with the Queen. He'd been hoping that if he seldom saw her, he would forget what she looked like, making it more difficult to fantasize about her. But her face was etched into his brain, and her voice spoke into his ear, even when she was nowhere in sight. Now that summer had arrived, she wore sheer, sleeveless dresses, which featured necklines that showed much more decolletage than they really needed to, and whenever she bent to pour water for them at the dinner table, he'd had to look away.

And, just as she was driving him crazy, he was doing the same thing to her. Every day Guinevere told herself that she was not going to look down at the courtyard from her window and watch him working out, bare-chested and sweaty, and every day she broke her promise and looked, anyway. Once in a while, he would pause and then look up at the castle, almost as if he could feel her eyes upon him. And, who knew? Maybe he could. He was everywhere now, at least in her mind. When she woke up in the morning, her first thought was whether he would be joining them at the breakfast table that day. Then, she thought about him training out there in the heat of the afternoon sun, and she would drift over to the window and watch him for a while. Many times she had the strongest urge to go down there, and bring him a towel and a drink of cold water. But she always refrained. It was bad enough that she thought about him all day long. She wondered every night whether he would be at their dinner table, but when Arthur did bring him and he sat in his customary seat beside her, all she could think about was the way he looked up at the castle, as if he were hoping to catch a glimpse of her watching him. So, she would eat quickly and excuse herself early. More often than not, she would end up just going to her bedchamber and attempting to curl up with a book. But she would find herself reading the same sentences over and over again, not comprehending anything. So then she would put the book down and extinguish the candle at her bedside. But that was even worse, because then all she could picture was Lancelot, coming through the door of her room. She would leap off the bed and run to him, and he would take her in his arms and kiss her. Then he would take her over to the bed and lift her nightgown off over her head and make love to her for hours. They would talk and laugh, and cuddle, and then he would make love to her one more time before the morning came. Then he would exit her room silently, leaving her smiling and stretched out luxuriously underneath the covers, his words of love and devotion echoing in her ears.

This was bad. It was so bad. Maybe she should just give in and go to Arthur one night soon. It was he who was her husband, not Lancelot. And poor Arthur had been so patient for so long. But every time her conscience started to bother her to the extent that she began to seriously contemplate that as an option, her husband would bring Sir Lancelot around again. She would look into his blue eyes, and he would smile at her, and she couldn't bring herself to go to bed with her own husband because Lance's face got in the way.

It had distressed Arthur so much when he'd thought that Gail disliked his Chief Knight that when he had finally confided this to her, she had started to call the Knight "Lance" and bade him to call her Gail instead of Guinevere. That was what her friends called her, she'd said, and Lancelot was a very noble name, but it was way too stiff and formal. Lancelot had looked a little taken aback by that, but he had agreed to refer to her by her preferred nickname, and he smiled every time she called him Lance. Arthur seemed a lot happier too, when he'd seen them interact that way.

One afternoon, on a rare rainy day, the Knights were all sitting around the table talking, and Sir Dean was taunting Lancelot about his nickname.

"You just wanted a one-syllable name, like the cool Knights have," Dean said, smirking.

"It's not him who gave himself that nickname, it was the Queen," Arthur remarked.

"'Lance'," Sam said, grinning. "Sounds like a weapon."

"And I'll be one, if the King ever needs me to fight on his behalf," Lancelot said, smiling.

"My name is two syllables," Arthur pointed out to Dean.

Dean thought about that, then he shrugged and took a swig of beer. "Doesn't matter," he said. "You're the King; you get a free pass. But there's me, Lance, Sam, Frank, Chuck..."

"But I'm Mordred," Mordred protested, "and he's Lucifer." He gestured to the other Knight in question.

"Three syllables," Sam teased, shaking his head at Lucifer. "You're a real troublemaker, aren't you?" he joked.

"Yes, and isn't your true name 'Metatron', Mordred? There you go," Charles said, joining in the fun. "Three syllables definitely spells trouble, then. One syllable is the best. Chuck, Frank, Dean, Lance, Sam - "

" - Gail," Lancelot said dreamily. Most of the Knights just smirked at that, but Arthur's smile was genuine. He was happy that the two of them seemed to be getting along so much better these days. But Mordred and Lucifer exchanged glances. Everyone else in the room seemed oblivious, but the two of them had noticed the expression on Lancelot's face and the tone of his voice when he'd used the Queen's nickname. Interesting. Both men filed this away for future reference.

A messenger came to the door. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Your Majesty," he said, bowing low, "but there is an emissary here from France, and he states he has urgent news."

"France?" Sir Francis said. "Maybe they're here to take you back, Lance."

"Well, they can't have him," Arthur said, smiling. "Maybe we can work out a deal. Maybe we'll send them Sir Charles, if they will accept a trade." The Knights all laughed.

But the messenger frowned. "The news is of a serious nature, Your Highness."

Arthur's smile faded. "What is it, then? You may speak freely."

Lancelot looked up sharply as the messenger said, "It's the King of France, Sire. He's dying."

Arthur sat Guinevere down and told her about her father, holding her as she cried. Lancelot stood at attention behind them. He felt like crying, too. He had been in service to the King of France for a number of years now, but mainly, it was because it broke his heart to see Gail cry like that.

The King gave his wife a handkerchief. "I'll have Rowena pack some things for you, and you can start out immediately. Lance?"

Lancelot stepped forward. "Yes, Your Majesty?"

Arthur stood and faced him. "You will take the Queen back to your mutual homeland so she may see her father before he dies."

Lancelot was startled. He'd never thought of that. As it was their mutual country, it made logical sense. However: "Will you not be taking her yourself, Arthur?" he asked the King.

"I cannot, Lance," Arthur replied, making a face. "The King of Spain will be here tomorrow for diplomatic talks. It's too late to call off his visit now."

Guinevere looked up. She had forgotten about that. But she didn't want to go on such a long trip with Lance. She'd practically made a career out of avoiding him.

"Then send Rowena with me," she said to Arthur.

The King rolled his eyes. "Don't be daft. Two women, travelling alone in the forest? You're obviously grief-stricken, which is understandable, but it's affecting your mind. No, if you must travel, I'm sending my best and bravest Knight to accompany you. That's it. End of discussion."

Lancelot glanced at Guinevere. He wasn't wild about taking such a long trip alone with her, either. It was bad enough that he still pictured her every day when he first awoke, every night when he lay down, and practically every moment in-between. But if she needed his protection, of course she would have it.

"I will prepare the horses," he said. Then he turned and left the room.

Guinevere looked at her husband. "Arthur..."

"I know it's hard for you to believe," he said dryly, "but in every other household in the world, when the husband says 'end of discussion', it's the end of the discussion." He took her hand. "I need to make sure you're safe. You are the Queen of all England, and there are men out there who would kidnap you for ransom, or worse."

She nodded slowly. He was right, of course. She would just have to continue to conduct herself properly. The priority right now was getting to her father.

"All right, Arthur," she said, kissing him on the cheek. "I'll go get my travelling cloak."

She left the room without another word, and Arthur touched his cheek where she had kissed it. A nice kiss, and no argument? Today was his lucky day.

An hour or so later, Lancelot and Guinevere set out on their journey. They rode for some time, and then Lancelot said, "The horses need water. We will rest them for a bit."

They pulled the horses up beside a clearing which Lance thought would make an ideal rest stop. There was an expanse of grass where they could sit, and a pond where the horses could drink their fill. He tied them up beside the pond and reached into his horse's saddlebag. Guinevere watched, astonished, as he pulled out a blanket and a small hamper. He brought the items over to the clearing and spread the blanket on the grass, smiling at her expression. "My Lady," he said, extending a hand to her. She took it, and he helped her down onto the blanket. Then he sat down too, and opened the hamper. "I have some chicken, and some of those little custard pies you like," he told her.

Gail was speechless. "My favourites," she said, after a moment. "How did you know?"

"I notice everything about you," he said matter-of-factly, handing her a piece of chicken wrapped in a napkin. He wasn't looking at her.

"Is that so?" she said, bemused. "What's my favourite colour, then?"

"Blue," he said, helping himself to a chicken leg.

OK, that had been an easy one, she thought. And the fact that blue was the colour of Lance's eyes was a mere coincidence. "OK, then. What do I like to do in my spare time?" she asked him, taking tiny bites of chicken.

"You like to read, and you've been trying to write a book," Lancelot answered quickly. Now he did glance at her. "And I think you should keep trying. There's nothing more satisfying than putting pen to paper to express yourself."

"Really?" she said, bemused again.

"Yes, really," he said earnestly. "I write poetry, so I know whereof I speak."

"You do not," she blurted out.

He smiled, "Yes, I do. I don't tell many people about that. Most of the Knights would think it was odd. I haven't even told Arthur about it."

Guinevere was honoured that he would share such a personal secret with her, and the thought of him sitting down and putting quill to paper was engaging. "What sort of poems do you write?" she asked him.

"When I first started, they were epic poems, filled with adventures and battles," he said with a wry smile. "But lately, all I can seem to write is love sonnets."

Gail's heart skipped a beat. She looked off into the distance, feeling that she'd better not be looking into his eyes right now. "And why is that?" she asked softly.

"I think you might know the answer to that question," he said pointedly.

Even though they were sitting in the shade, the temperature had suddenly gotten very warm. She needed something to do, so she wouldn't have to think about what he had just said. "May I have a piece of dessert, please?" she asked him.

Lancelot put a custard tart into her hand. She bit into it quickly, and the custard ran out of it and dripped down her chin. She dropped the tart on the blanket and grabbed the napkin her chicken had been wrapped in, blushing furiously.

She looked so stricken that Lance couldn't help but laugh. She dabbed at her chin with the napkin, looking at him. "What's so funny?" she said. She was trying to be angry, but her lips were twitching now. His laughter was contagious. If he was beautiful when he smiled, she had no superlative to do him justice when he laughed. It was as if the whole world had become more vibrant and colourful.

Gail looked at him. "Did I get it all?" she asked him, sticking her chin out.

He'd stopped laughing, but he was still smiling. She was so cute. He leaned forward, scrutinizing her face as she had requested. "You missed a bit," he told her, and before he could stop himself, he'd reached his hand out and wiped the bit of custard with his thumb. The rest of his hand was cupping her face, and now that he was doing that, he couldn't seem to make himself remove his hand. She was looking into his eyes now, and he was looking into hers, and it was as if time was standing still, and fate was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

Impulsively, she licked the custard from his thumb, and when she did that, he was gone. He put his arms around her and pulled her to him. His mouth came down on hers, and his tongue was in her mouth.

Gail was surprised, initially. But now that it was actually happening, she was too weak to protest. She knew that he would stop immediately if she told him to, but she didn't want him to stop. She touched his tongue with hers, and he made a low noise in his throat.

He reached up inside her dress and touched her between her legs, and her body jumped. Then he took her hand and put it on himself. "Do you want me to stop?" he asked her, breathing heavily now.

"No," she said in a small voice. He undid the buttons at the front of his pants, and she put her hand around him. He gasped. "I love you," he said. He pushed forward into her hand, and his fingers sped up in the area where he was touching her. She cried out. "I've always loved you," he told her. He lifted up her dress and moved on top of her body, entering her. "Say you love me, Gail, please," Lancelot said, pushing into her.

"I'm afraid," she said. He pushed harder, and she cried out again. She started to kiss and lick his face. "Tell me you love me, Gail," he persisted. "I need to hear you say it. Please."  
"I love you, Lance," she told him, and he smiled. He kissed her with his tongue and pushed forward once more, groaning loudly.

Once he got his breath back, Lancelot smoothed the hair back from her face and kissed her tenderly. "I'm sorry I was so aggressive," he said softly. "Are you all right?"

She gave him a wry smile. "For someone who's just committed adultery, I'm surprisingly content," she said to him.

Lance kissed her forehead. "Well, I've just committed it with you," he said. "But, you know what? I don't feel as if we've sinned. We were meant for each other, Gail. Your parents may have promised you to Arthur, but God promised you to me."

Gail's mouth dropped open. How could he be talking about God, after what they'd just done? "Please let me up, Lancelot," she said, pushing at him.

He withdrew from her and sat up, buttoning his pants. Guinevere rose from the blanket, pulling her dress down over her legs. "What's the matter?" he asked her, his brow furrowing.

"What's the matter?" she repeated incredulously. "You talk of God and look what we've just done!"

"But we're in love," Lancelot protested. He was becoming frantic. She had moved away from him now. She wasn't even looking at him anymore. She had risen to her feet, and now she wheeled on him. "Do you think that matters?" she said in a shaky voice.

"Yes," he answered firmly. He stood and faced her. "Yes, of course it matters. It's the only thing that matters."

Gail made a face. "We'll see if you still feel the same way when your head is being separated from your body, and I'm burned at the stake," she retorted.

He reached for her. "DO you love me, or did you just say it because I bade you to?" he asked her.

Guinevere sighed. She should tell him just that; that she didn't love him, she'd just said so in the heat of the moment. It would save both of their lives and keep the Kingdom intact. But she made the mistake of looking into his eyes. He looked so sad now. She couldn't bring herself to do it.

She let him put his arms around her. "I do love you, Lance. God help me. God help both of us. I love you so much," she told him. She put her arms around his neck, and his face lit up. "Now kiss me one more time, and then let's go pay our respects to my father. Then we'll talk to Arthur together when we get back and see what we can figure out. OK?"

Lancelot nodded. That would be the sensible thing to do, and it was the right thing to do. "D'accord," he said. He leaned down and kissed her on the lips. His tongue traced the outline of her mouth, and she opened her mouth and gave him hers in return. "Je t'aime, mon ange," he murmured.

"Je t'aime, ma cheri," she replied, and he smiled, and kissed her again. "Ma raison de vivre," he said, holding her tightly.

Despite her fear, Guinevere realized she was truly happy now, for the first time in her life. He was telling her that she was his reason for living. She only hoped that she wouldn't be the cause of his death.

The funeral was done, and Guinevere and Lance were only a day away from their return to the Kingdom of Camelot. They had comported themselves properly in her father's castle, not wanting to taint the solemnity of the occasion. But once they started to head back and they were alone, their hunger for each other grew too strong, and they succumbed.

They made love on the blanket several times a day on the journey home, and now, they had vowed that this time would be the last time until they were able to sort things out with Arthur. Although just how that was supposed to work, neither of them knew. Hopefully, the fact that Arthur loved them both would help the three of them reach an amicable solution. At least, that was what they were hoping, anyway.

Night was falling as Lance spread the blanket on the ground. Gail rolled up their spare clothing to use as pillows as he readied the second blanket. The summer was waning now, and the nights were getting cooler. Where did the time go?

"May I approach your bedchamber, My Lady?" he said in a lighthearted tone.

But she did not smile. "I'm scared, Lance."

He got down on the blanket beside her, taking her in his arms. "I know, my love," he said to her. "But it will be all right. We'll be together when we go to him, and I will not leave your side until he agrees to release you from your marriage vows."

"I fear the only thing he'll agree to is to release us both from the earth," she quipped nervously.

Lancelot's arms tightened around her, and he kissed the top of her head. "He's bound to be angry, Gail," he said in a reasonable tone. "He's about to lose you. If I lost you, I'd be inconsolable."

"Well, I'm sure any one of his little chambermaids will be glad to console him," she said, rolling her eyes. "I'm sure they've been doing so daily, ever since I've been away. But he wanted an heir, and the whole world views me as his property, Lance. I'm just fortunate he never forced himself on me."

Lancelot broke the embrace, looking down at her face. "Are you trying to tell me that you and he never - " he started to say, and she nodded. "But you were married!" he said, astonished. His use of the past tense was conscious. In Lancelot's mind, Gail was wed to him now, by love and by choice, not to Arthur by royal decree.

Gail shrugged. "I could never bring myself to give in to him," she told Lance. "I guess I was waiting for you."

He smiled widely. "As was I," he told her.

She was puzzled. "Pardonnez-moi?" she said, raising an eyebrow. God, she was cute.

Lancelot kissed her gently on the lips. "I was waiting for you, too. That's why I was so quick, that first time. You're the only woman I've ever been with, Gail."

"Get out of here," she said, tilting her head. "A man as handsome as you? As wonderful as you? And, as good as you?" she asked mischeviously. "I find that very hard to believe."

He was still smiling, enjoying her compliments. "Nonetheless, it's true," he assured her. "There could never be anyone else, because there's only you."

She smiled, now. "I love you, Lance."

That was all he needed to hear. He reached down and pulled her dress off over her head, and then he took off his clothes. His hands were trembling, but he made himself go slowly. Ever since that first time, he had discovered that there were a number of ways that they could make love, and a number of things he could do that would make her happy. But he had to remain calm and take his time.

His mouth was on her body, and he was caressing her bare skin. He couldn't believe how soft she was. He moved his way down to her thighs and gently parted her legs, bending his head to lick her there. She rewarded him with a sound that he now knew to be one of pleasure. So he resumed, and she cried out his name. He persisted, and she continued to cry out. Her hands were on the back of his head, and she was caressing his hair. She kept him there and then she started to laugh, because he was making her feel so good. He smiled as he continued to lick her. He loved to hear her so happy, and to know that it was him who was making her feel that way. He had wasted so much time staying away from her. Trying to do the right thing. But King Arthur was bedding a number of women, and Lancelot and Guinevere were deeply in love. So, who was right, and who was wrong? Their society would judge Gail as the main sinner in this situation. But their society would be wrong.

Once she was still, he pulled her on top of him and moved her up and down on him, enhoying the delightful friction between their bodies. His body was hard and muscular, and hers was soft and shapely. His hands were on the curves of her hips, and he was looking at her face. She was smiling, looking down at him with love in her eyes.

"Please, tell me," Lance said. His breath was becoming ragged now.

She knew what he wanted to hear. "I love you, Lance," she said. "You're my whole life."

He cried out then, lifting himself up and pushing her down on him at the same time. Then he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down to kiss him. After a moment or two, he pulled the second blanket on top of them and said, "You are my whole life, too. I don't want to die, but I would gladly do so if I can't be with you."

"No one is going to die," Guinevere said, shaking her head with denial. But she was getting scared again. Tomorrow morning they were planning on marching into the castle and telling the King of all England that his wife was rejecting him for his best friend. Her husband had always treated her decently, but he was a man of his era, whose ingrained beliefs that women were inferior were still very much a part of him. It wouldn't matter to him that he had his pick of any one of the nubile young women in the court to have sex with, and it wouldn't matter to him that his wife would never be able to love him in that way. She was his property, and if he let her go, he would be demonstrating that he was a cuckold. If he didn't deal with them both harshly, he would be seen as weak, his Knights would lose respect for him, and his Kingdom could well come under attack, if word got out.

Gail started to shake, and then she started to cry. Lancelot was concerned. "What's wrong, my love?" he asked her. He gently rolled her off of him to his side, but he continued to hold her, looking at her face.

"We can't tell him, Lance," she said, the tears spilling from her eyes. "He'll have us killed, and it will destroy Camelot! I can't live without you, but I can't have that on my conscience, either."

His heart sank. She was right. They'd been living in a dream world. The instant they showed up hand in hand, declaring their love for each other, would be the instant that they destroyed everything.

"We'll just leave, then," he told her. "We'll get back on the horses in the morning and ride away."

Guinevere smiled sadly. How wonderful that would be. "He would just come looking for us," she said quietly.

She was right, of course. He let out a frustrated breath. "What do you want to do?"

Gail burrowed her face into his chest. "It's not what we WANT to do, it's what we HAVE to do," she answered him. "We have to go back to the way it was before."

He tilted her face up to look at his. "You can't mean that," he said, alarmed.

"I don't see an alternative," she said, with anguish in her voice. "Do you?"

He didn't, but he insisted, "We'll think of something. But I can't be without you any more, Gail. I can't go back to just passing you in the halls of the castle and pretending that we barely know each other. I can't go back to having awkward meals with your husband and you, where I can hardly look at your face for fear I'll have to kiss it or die. And I can't go back to laying in my bed at night, unable to sleep because I'm burning for you."

She sighed. "Neither can I, Lance." She gave him a grim smile. "Well, we're hell-bound anyway, so we may as well enjoy the ride. I will come to your room at night whenever I can, and I imagine we can steal a kiss now and then on other occasions. It's a big castle. And who knows, something may change." She didn't see what, or how, but she had to say that, to try to take the weight off of what she was proposing.

Lancelot was relieved. He knew that what they were planning was very wrong, extremely deceitful. They were going to continue to willingly betray a man who had been kind and gracious to them, sneaking around behind his back while lying to his face. But the alternative was unacceptable, because the alternative was to be without her. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Then he kissed her, and soon they were making love again.

A couple of weeks passed, and the deception had been going very well. Their days went on pretty much as they had before. Arthur had welcomed them back with open arms, and out of respect for his wife's mourning of her father, he did not bring up the subject of his conjugal rights.

The summer ended, and the fall colours were resplendent. The King and Queen went for walks in the forest surrounding the castle as they always had, discussing the state of the Kingdom. Arthur noticed that she seemed a little calmer now, more at peace with herself. Gail informed him that she had begun to write a book, a work of fiction that was going to involve Kings and Queens, Knights and maidens, and heroic quests. Maybe she would even throw in a dragon or two, if it was organic to the plot.

Arthur had thrown his head back and laughed, and Guinevere bristled. "What's so funny?" she demanded.

"Dragons?" he said, smirking. "Why don't you put in some magic, too, and a few supernatural beings, while you're at it?"

"Maybe I will," she said angrily. "Why do you mock me?"

"Because women don't write books, and what you're proposing is ridiculous," he retorted. "Who will read this book, if you do write it?"

"Maybe no one," she fumed. "Maybe I'll just write it for myself. For the pure enjoyment of putting quill to paper to express myself. I wouldn't expect you to understand."

He rolled his eyes. "Well, good, because I don't." There was silence between them for a moment as he stared at her. She started walking faster, back towards the castle. He sighed. Now he'd done it. Time for some damage control. He hurried after her. "I'll tell you what," he said. "Things are really slow right now; I'll send Lancelot to your chambers after dinner. He can help you, if you like. He's gone on many a heroic quest in his day. Use him for research. I think he misses you, anyway. You've hardly seen him since the two of you got back."

She stopped short. Wow. Nothing like being encouraged by your husband to see your lover in your chambers at night to make you feel incredibly guilty. As if she didn't feel bad enough already. But she smiled. When it came to Lance, she couldn't help herself.

"All right, Arthur. Thank you," Gail said to him, and he returned her smile. She felt another stab of guilt. She really was trying to write a book, too; it hadn't just been a ruse. She had thought that a solitary pursuit like that could be just the thing she needed to keep her mind off Lance, and the guilt she felt about him. But now she was going to spend even more time with the object of her adulterous love, alone, in her chambers. What was God trying to tell her now?

Lance knocked lightly on Gail's door, and then he let himself in. She was sitting at the writing table in her room, with pen in hand. She looked up at him, frowning.

He rushed to her side. "What's wrong?" he asked her.

Guinevere sat back in her chair, looking up at him. "I can't figure out what I want to do next," she told him, tossing the pen onto the table. "I know what my characters should be doing, but I don't know if I dare write it."

Lancelot was relieved. She was talking about the plot of her book. He drew up a chair beside her. "Why would you not dare?" he asked her, smiling.

She raised an eyebrow to him. "You remember where I left the last chapter, right?"

"Of course I do," he said in a gentle tone. "The brave and beautiful heroine finally admitted to herself that she loves the strongest and most courageous Knight in the realm."

Gail smiled. "You forgot most handsome."

Lance returned her smile. He seldom stopped smiling when he was around her. "If you say so, My Lady," he said, tipping his head to her in acknowledgement.

"I do say so," she said softly. They were looking into each other's eyes, and she was going to be in his lap in a second, kissing him passionately. But she really did have a point to make, so she tore her eyes away from his face and looked down at her manuscript. "But then the narrative descends into a love story, and I mean for it to be so much more than that," she mused aloud.

Lance took her hand. "What's wrong with a love story?" he asked her. "Everyone loves a good love story, don't you think?" He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

She was shaking her head slowly. He was unbelievable. "You're just saying that because you yourself are in love," she said to him, trying not to grin.

"While what you say is undoubtedly true, I can assure you I'm not saying it merely due to that fact," he said glibly.

"You have a silver tongue," she said pertly.

Lance pretended to frown. "I was hoping that you would find it to be gold."

Guinevere couldn't help but laugh. "I always have." She rose from her chair and sat on his lap, straddling him. "And I would love it if you would remind me of why."

"Gladly," he said, wrapping his arms around her.

"So, your characters have told each other of their feelings," Lance said a while later. They were in her bed, and they were naked. She was laying on her stomach and he was caressing her back and buttocks. "Then what happens?"

Gail smiled. "They make mad, passionate love. Then, they make love again," she said coquettishly.

"Do they?" he said casually. His hand slipped in-between her legs, and his fingers were inside her, playing with her. She opened her legs wider, and he smiled. "And, does she enjoy it?"

"She does," Gail said, closing her eyes and moving against his hand.

He got on top of her and raised her hips with his hands, pushing into her. "And, does he?" he continued to banter.

She lifted her lower half, pushing it up to meet him. "You tell me," she said teasingly.

He groaned loudly, and he sped up his motion. "He does," he breathed. He wrapped his arms around her and held her there as he finished. Then he withdrew from her and she felt his mouth on her, and then his tongue was inside of her. She moved against him, then she moved away, teasing herself. Then he touched her with the very tip of his tongue, and she couldn't stand it anymore. "Lance!" she shouted, and he pulled her to him and made love to her with enthusiasm. She cried out loudly, holding onto the headboard of the bed so she wouldn't collapse from the intensity of the feeling.

Sir Mordred was walking in the hallway of the Royal Quarters, returning to his own room in the adjacent wing of the castle. He and Arthur had just spent an enjoyable couple of hours together playing chess and discussing the upcoming banquet.

"Why must we always have chicken at these things?" Mordred had complained. "Why not a nice roasted pig, instead?"

"Because Guinevere's favourite is chicken, and because she says she won't eat anything if she has to look at its face, first," Arthur said with a smile.

Mordred shook his head slowly. "At times, I wonder who really rules England, Arthur; you, or her."

The King had looked up from the chessboard sharply. "You had better be joking about that. I could serve your head on a plate, you know. I wonder how you'd look with an apple in your mouth." He was being facetious, of course, but it was a sensitive subject for him nonetheless. More often than he should, Arthur had wondered the same thing himself.

"Apologies, Majesty," Mordred said, trying not to grin. "I do notice that she does not seem to be weighing in as often on matters of state these days."

Arthur smirked now. "She has a new obsession, praise God. Believe it or not, she fancies herself an author."

Mordred's eyebrows rose. "Really? I thought that was my job."

Arthur moved his rook. "Don't worry, Metatron, your position is safe." Mordred frowned. He disliked his full name. The King was the only one who could get away with using it. Arthur continued, "Her book is a flight of fancy. But at least it keeps her occupied. I've been sending Lance to her room to give her some stories of his exploits, and she's been soaking it up like a sponge. He deserves a medal for services above and beyond. I can only imagine the outrageous things he's got in that little head of hers. But she's out of our hair now, anyway."

"That's right, Sire," Mordred agreed. He was glad that Guinevere was keeping herself busy. Women had no business in affairs of government, as far as he was concerned.

So they'd had a pleasant evening, and now Mordred was walking past Guinevere's room on his way out of the wing. He glanced at her door, smirking. So, she fancied herself a writer, did she? She would soon find out that it was a lot harder than everyone thought it was.

But then he heard her cry out, and it startled him. Was she hurt? Should he go for help? But then he heard her shout out Lancelot's name, and a slow smile started to creep across his face. It had been way too long since he'd heard sounds like that, but he did recognize them. Then his smile disappeared. The Queen, and the King's best friend? He would never dare to write such a story; it was much too cliche. But apparently, some cliches were true. This was too good.

Mordred hurried to the Senior Knights' wing, and he passed by his own room to knock on Sir Lucifer's door. When his old friend answered, Mordred rushed past him into the room.

"I have just the thing we've been looking for," he told Lucifer gleefully.

But Lucifer wasn't as thrilled as he was. "Surely you're mistaken," he said skeptically. "There could be other interpretations for what you heard."

Mordred let out a frustrated breath. "Really? Such as?"

Lucifer shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I don't know, Metatron," he said spitefully.

Mordred glared at him, but he knew where Lucifer was coming from. His friend was a virgin, and he was none too happy about that situation. He probably felt like Mordred was rubbing salt in the wound.

Lucifer rubbed his chin, thoughtful now. If this were only true, it would change everything. But they had to be very careful. You couldn't just run around making serious accusations like that without any proof. "I'll tell you what," he said to his friend. "See if you can follow them around the castle for a while. Maybe you'll be able to overhear something, or witness something untoward, if they are indiscreet. But we have to be sure, Mordred. A false accusation means death. And you know how Arthur feels about the both of them."

Mordred nodded. Yes, he did. If this was true, it would likely kill Arthur. But Mordred had no problem with that. As the King currently had no heirs, Mordred would be next in line to the throne, as the highest-ranking Knight in the realm. And now he was starting to think he had a pretty good idea as to why Arthur had no heirs.

Lucifer poured them both a drink and they had a toast. Things were about to get very interesting in Camelot.

But another few days passed, and even though Mordred had all but run himself ragged tailing the couple all over the castle, they had said nothing of a personal nature when they were together, and they did nothing improper. They were cordial and polite with each other, but there was no inappropriate interaction between them that he could observe.

But when they were in her bedchamber at night, it was a different story. Mordred listened outside the door every night, and every night, he would hear the unmistakable sounds. Mordred was beside himself. If only he could figure out an excuse to just barge in there, he could catch them right in the act. But he didn't dare enter the Queen's private chambers without permission. Still, he had tried the door very quietly one night when he'd gotten desperate, but it was locked.

He needed to flush them out somehow. If they were as passionate about each other as they sounded, Mordred thought that they might slip, if they felt like they had the freedom to do so.

The morning of the banquet, Mordred walked into the kitchen and engaged the girls on the staff in conversation. He knew that a couple of them were sweet on a couple of the other Knights, and he intimated that he might be able to arrange some introductions if they would let him watch them prepare the King's breakfast. They'd looked at him curiously, but because he was a Senior Knight and they were mere servants, no questions were posed.

When their attentions were elsewhere, Mordred put the powder into the King's bowl of porridge and stirred it in. Then he bade the girls a good morning and left.

A few hours after breakfast, they were all sitting around the round table when Arthur out a hand to his stomach, groaning loudly.

"What's the matter, Majesty?" Mordred asked him innocently.

"I am in too much pain to sit here any longer," the King complained. "I fear I may have eaten some bad sausage at breakfast."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Mordred remarked. "Maybe you should go back to bed for a little while. The banquet is this evening, and the Queen will be expecting you to feast, and to dance."

Arthur groaned again. "The damn banquet," he said through gritted teeth. Sweat broke out on his forehead. "I forgot." He looked at Lancelot. "You will escort the Queen to the banquet. If she inquires, tell her I will see her in the morning. Provided I haven't died in the night, of course." He clutched his stomach again as he rose from his chair and hurried out of the room.

Guinevere and Lancelot sat side by side at the banquet table, and he was using the excuse of the noise in the room to speak closely into her ear. "Would you like some more wine, my love?" he asked her.

She smiled. It was extremely exciting to hear him call her that in public, and to feel his lips graze her ear when he spoke. It was as if the two of them were the King and Queen, hosting their own banquet. He had escorted her here, they had been sitting close together, and they had danced the first dance together. Now, dessert was being served. As Lance was pouring wine into her goblet, Gail was looking at the custard tarts and remembering the first time she and Lancelot had lain together. They had been together in that same way numerous times since, and every time was just as exciting as the last one, as the first one had been.

"May I have a piece of dessert, please?" Guinevere said, touching Lancelot's arm.

He looked at her, smiling. He was reminiscing, too. That was what she had said that day. He bent to her ear again. "As long as you can promise the same result as last time," he said in a low voice, and she laughed.

Mordred was watching the couple avidly. No one else in the room was looking at them. He wanted to stand up from his chair and shout out loud to everyone to look at the treacherous duo. Was he the only one who could see them for what they really were?

Guinevere had another goblet of wine, then another, and now her hand was on Lance's thigh under the table. He knew they were being indiscreet now, but the revels were in full swing and no one seemed to be paying any attention to them. And, he had to admit that he liked it. He moved a little closer to her, causing her to slide her hand even further up his leg.

"Je t'aime, ma cherie," she told him, and she gave his ear a little lick. Lance was extremely excited now, but he realized he had to get her out of the banquet room before one of them did something incredibly stupid. So he leaned down and said, "I think it's time we left the party. You need to stand up and thank everyone for coming, and then bid them a good evening on behalf of the King and yourself. Then I'll escort you out of the room."

"Why don't you stand up with me?" she asked him.

Lance smiled wryly. "I don't think I should, right now." She looked at him, puzzled. His eyes shifted down to his lap, and then she understood.

She laughed. "Maybe you should hold a napkin in front of yourself," she said to him.

He lifted an eyebrow. "Something I find myself doing quite often, when I eat with you," he said, and she laughed again. He loved to see her laugh.

So Guinevere did as Lancelot said, and they exited the banquet room. There was no one in the back passage. He took her by the hand and led her around the corner. "I can't wait any longer," he told her, and he leaned down and kissed her on the mouth. She threw her arms around his neck and opened her mouth to his, giving him her tongue.

"You're driving me crazy," he breathed.

"I wish you were the King," she said to him, touching his face. "Then we could be free to love each other any time and any place we wanted."

"Well, I want to love you right now," Lance said, smiling.

"Then by all means, proceed," she said, answering his smile.

He undid his pants and then picked her up, pressing her against the wall. She lifted her dress with both hands, and he pushed into her eagerly.

"Oh my God, Lance, I love you so much," she said, and he pushed even harder, kissing her neck. He groaned loudly, and his arms tightened around her, and then he was still.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" Lancelot asked her, nuzzling her cheek. "You just got me so excited."

"No, you didn't hurt me, Lance," she said softly, kissing his face. "You could never hurt me. But I think we have to continue this conversation in my room."

He smiled. "I was hoping you would say that," he told her. He lifted her again, gently this time, and put her back on the ground. Then he took her hand again, and they hurried down the corridor.

And a moment later, Mordred stepped out of the shadows, smiling widely.

King Arthur was feeling better the next day, and he sent a servant to Lancelot's room, inviting his Chief Knight to breakfast.

Arthur and Guinevere were already seated when Lancelot entered the dining room. "Morning, Lance," Arthur mumbled, around a mouthful of porridge. He hadn't been able to eat anything since breakfast the day before, and he was starving.

"Good morning, Your Majesty," Lance said, sitting in his customary seat beside the Queen. "I trust you're feeling better today?"

"Much," Arthur responded, still cramming food into his mouth.

"Slow down, Arthur, or you'll choke," Guinevere chided him. "The food will still be here in a few minutes, you know."

"That's easy for you to say," he retorted. "You clearly got your fill at the banquet last night."

She smiled. "Yes, I did."

"That's why I invited you here this morning," Arthur said to Lancelot. "I wanted to say thank you for escorting my wife last night."

"It was my distinct pleasure," Lance replied, smiling at Guinevere. "The Queen is the most exquisite companion I could ever wish for."

Arthur looked a little taken aback by the comment. Then he shrugged. "Yes. Well. Thanks again. We'll have breakfast, and then we'll go to the round table."

Gail looked at him. "Another meeting?" she asked Arthur. "What issues are you debating? Or is it just an excuse to drink ale?"

He looked at her sharply. "Why don't you just go and write your fantasies, and leave the governing to me?" he said coolly.

She stood abruptly from the table. "Fine. I'll do that, then." She threw her napkin on her plate and looked at Lancelot. "I'll see you tonight. Thank you for the lovely evening." He rose as she exited the room.

Lancelot re-took his seat, looking at the King. Arthur shrugged. "Sorry, Lance. She's been like that lately. Very moody. Oh, well. Let's eat."

After breakfast, the Knights all gathered around the table. The talk was idle chatter, for the most part. As usual, Guinevere had been correct in her assessment of the true purpose for the meeting. Arthur had felt cheated out of the social hour the day before, so he'd been eager to reconvene. He supposed he should be glad that the Kingdom was at peace, but the days were sometimes long and tedious, and social hour was really the only break to the monotony. He didn't even have that much interaction with Guinevere these days, because she was so wrapped up in her writings. Of course, what little interactions they had had lately seemed to consist mainly of disagreements, so perhaps it was just as well.

Once social hour had begun and the ale was flowing, Sir Dean nudged Lancelot. "How was the banquet last night? Did she make you dance?"

"Yes, we danced," Lance said casually, "but she didn't 'make' me. I enjoy dancing."

"You know, if I hadn't seen you strip down with my own two eyes, I would almost swear you were a woman sometimes," Dean said, smirking.

Lance just smiled at Dean's gibe, but Arthur laughed and said, "Are you going to take that from him, Lance? Perhaps we should arrange a jousting match."

"I take it back," Dean said quickly. "I'd much rather tap a keg than joust with Lance." The Knights all laughed.

"Besides, it would be easy to prove that Lance is a man," Mordred said slyly. "All we would have to do is ask the Queen."

The Knights all went silent. Arthur turned his head slowly to look at Mordred. "What did you say?" the King asked him, almost tonelessly.

Sir Charles was nervous now. Of all of the Knights, he was perhaps the most intuitive. He had had the feeling for quite some time now that Lance and the Queen had a lot more between them than just their mutual ties to Arthur. "I'm sure Sir Mordred is referring to Lance's evening consultations with her," Chuck said quickly. "Surely no one who hears of his adventures would doubt that he was a man."

Arthur nodded, smiling. Of course that was what Mordred had meant. But, Sir Lucifer kicked Mordred under the table. If he let this go now, he would never get up the nerve to broach the subject again.

"That's not what I meant, Arthur," Mordred persisted. "You claim that we can speak freely during social hour? Well, I'm speaking freely now, and I'm telling you that they are not merely conversing in her chambers."

Lancelot's blood ran cold. What did Mordred know, and how did he know it? But until he was caught out, he had to play his part. "How dare you insinuate - " he started to say, but Mordred interrupted him. "Oh, I have not yet begun to insinuate, Lancelot. Besides, I don't have to," Mordred said slyly. "I saw what you were doing to the Queen last night, in the passageway behind the banquet hall." He went on to describe what he had seen, using very crude language.

Lancelot and Arthur exchanged glances for a moment, and then Arthur grabbed the dagger he kept underneath his cloak and lunged at Mordred, holding the knife to his throat. "You will apologize to me, and to Lance."

"But it's true!" Mordred exclaimed. "I have heard them every night, outside her bedchamber!"

"You were listening outside?" Lancelot blurted out. He was astonished. He'd thought they had been pretty discreet. Well, except for last night. He should have just waited until they'd gotten to her room. But now that he thought about it, he realized that Guinevere was quite vocal when expressing her pleasure, and he supposed that he was, too. But the notion that someone could have been outside, listening purposely, would never have occurred to him.

Arthur turned to look at Lance now. What his friend had said, and the way he had said it, was a little peculiar. He hadn't exactly denied it, had he? But this was Sir Lancelot they were talking about. Arthur would probably have believed it of any other man at this table BUT Lance.

He removed the knife from Mordred's throat and walked slowly over to where Lance was sitting. The two men stared at each other.

"And if he were listening, Lance, what exactly would he be hearing?" Arthur said quietly.

"Nothing," Lancelot said firmly. He had to brazen it out. There was no proof. "Sir Mordred is imagining things."

"Is he, Lance?" Arthur said calmly.

"Yes, he is."

Another moment's silence. Then Arthur put the knife away and sat down, pouring himself some more ale. "Fine, then, it's settled," he said. "Mordred has a writer's imagination. Maybe it's he who should be advising my wife on her novel." He looked at Mordred. "How lucky you are that your fantasy occurred during social hour; otherwise, I should be looking for a new Scribe, and you would be buried in the royal cemetery. Well, most of you would be. Your head would be on a spike in the courtyard outside."

Mordred was frowning. So, that was how Arthur was going to play it. Unless the King saw the two of them going at it with his own two eyes, he was going to choose to be in denial about everything. He stood from the table. "I need to use the bathroom." Then Mordred hurriedly left the room.

Social hour was over, and the Knights were all uncomfortable now, so they mumbled excuses and took their leave. Then it was just Lance and Arthur. Lance wanted to leave too, but he didn't want Arthur to think that his departure was due to guilt.

Arthur refilled their tankards from the pitcher. "How long have we known each other now, Lance?"

Lancelot shrugged. "I honestly don't know."

"Honestly?" Arthur echoed. He gave Lance a wry smile. "Interesting choice of words. I've known Mordred since I was a child, and in all that time, he has never told me an untruth."

"Well then, I wonder why he would pick now to start," Lance said lightly.

"I wondered that myself," Arthur said casually. "I suppose he could be jealous of you."

"That's possible," Lance said, inclining his head.

"Or, he could be telling the truth, and you could be stabbing me in the back," Arthur continued, his gaze penetrating.

Lancelot was silent. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth now, it would all come pouring out. How he loved Guinevere so much that he felt like he was going to die every second he wasn't with her. If Arthur didn't release her from her vows, Lance was just going to grab her and take her away from the castle. And he would kill any man who tried to take her away from him.

But Guinevere would be very upset with Lance if he said those things. They had agreed not to rock the boat. But the way that Arthur was looking at Lance now convinced him that the King already knew the truth. Shouldn't he just come clean, then?

"No. I refuse to believe that you would betray me that way," Arthur went on. "And I would hate to see Guinevere burned at the stake, and your head up on that spike. Better the two of you just stay apart for a while, to quiet any rumour mongers."

Lance nodded, but he felt nauseous now. Arthur was making his position clear: he was going to pretend as if no such betrayal occurred, and he intended to ensure that it did not occur again. And, he was reminding Lance of the deadly consequences of his actions. Lance had better heed that warning.

But later that evening, when he did not go to her room, Guinevere came to his.

When Lance opened the door, she brushed past him and entered his room. Lance let out a frustrated breath. He was trying to avoid her. But, perhaps it was just as well. She needed to be informed of the seriousness of the situation.

Guinevere stood in the middle of the room, looking at him. "Why did you not come to see me?" she asked him. "Are you all right?"

He approached her, but not too close. "I'm fine," he told her, but he was lying. "I just think we should stay apart for a while."

Her eyes narrowed. "You do? Why?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "There has been some talk."

"Talk? What kind of talk?" she asked him, and he lifted an eyebrow to her. "You mean, about us?" she said in a hushed voice.

"Yes," he confirmed. "Mordred was making accusations."

"Mordred?" she echoed. "What would he know?"

Lance told her what Mordred had said, and what Arthur had said in response. Gail was shocked, but she supposed she shouldn't have been. She'd predicted as much, hadn't she?

"So he means to put us to death," she said shakily.

"Only if we ignore his warning, and continue to see each other," Lance said.

Guinevere started to cry. "What are we going to do, Lance?"

He tried to smile. "I'll just have to admire you from afar, I suppose."

She looked up at him. "So that's it, then?"

He frowned. "I can't have you put to death, Gail. I love you. Please don't cry."

"Okay, I won't," she told him, but her lower lip was trembling and the tears continued to spill from her eyes. He couldn't stand it. He reached out and wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs, and then he kissed her, so he wouldn't have to see her lip tremble any more.

"Will you still love me, even if we can't lay together anymore?" she asked him.

He was puzzled by her question. "Of course I will. I have always loved you, Gail. But I will have to leave here in the morning, in order to protect you."

She was weeping again. "Then lay with me just once more," she said softly.

He couldn't refuse, nor did he want to. He picked her up and carried her to his bed, laying her down. He undressed her, then himself, and then he started to kiss her, all over her body. He paused to lick her here and there, and she held his head tenderly.

"I will always love you, Lance," she said.

He looked up from where he was kissing her. "Then come with me," he said. "We can leave tonight, while everyone is asleep."

"Let me think about it," she said to him, smiling.

Lance smiled back. That meant that she would; he was sure of it. They loved each other far too much to be apart. "I'll take you to your room in a minute, so you can pack a few things," he said. "But first, I mean to finish what I've started." He moved between her legs and lapped at her with his tongue, and she cried out immediately.

A minute or two later, she began to calm down, and if he had stopped there, they might have made their escape. But he was too excited now, so he moved his body up and pushed into her, pulling her close to him.

"I love you, Gail," he breathed.

"I love you too, Lance," she replied, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him further into her. "Promise me we'll do this every day, once we leave here."

"And every night," he said, smiling. He put his arms around her and pushed forward, hard. She uttered a cry, and then his mouth was on hers. She pushed her tongue into his mouth and he moaned. He pulled her body tight to him, and then he was spent.

He lay there for another moment, getting his breath back, and then he kissed her nose, making her laugh with delight. Then he rolled off to the side, bringing her with him. "Let me hold you for another minute, and then we'll dress, and go," Lance told her. She nodded, snuggling against him.

"Go? Now, where on earth do you think you would go?" Arthur said softly.

Guinevere's eyes had been closed as she nestled herself against Lance, but they flew open now and her heart stopped upon hearing her husband's voice. Lance's arms tightened painfully around her for a moment.

Arthur was leaning casually against the door jamb. "They told me you had a reputation as an expert swordsman, but I didn't think this was what they meant," he said sardonically. "You should learn to lock your door, Lancelot. Better still, you should have stayed away from her, as I advised. Well, it's your funeral. Literally. But now you have condemned Guinevere, also. And her death will not be quick, or merciful."

Lancelot embraced Gail tightly, as if doing so would protect her. "Let us leave this place, Arthur. We will go far away, and you need never see us again."

Arthur stroked his beard slowly, appearing to consider. "No, I think not," he said after a moment. "Rather, I think the entire Kingdom needs to see what a dirty whore I married."

Guinevere cringed as Lancelot sat up straighter. "Watch your language," he warned Arthur.

"Actually, I did," Arthur said, almost cheerfully. "I had a better, more descriptive word in mind." He bent down and snatched Gail's dress up from the floor, throwing it at her. "Get dressed, sweetheart," he told her. "We can't have you walking to the pyre starkers." He turned to leave the room, and then he turned back. "You have exactly one minute to say your tearful farewells to each other. Or to fornicate one more time, if you can get yourselves in the mood. You have my full permission. Then I will send the Knights in to get you. But don't be nervous, Lancelot. It'll be Guinevere, first. I'm nothing if not a gentleman. And besides, I know how you love to look upon her. Maybe she'll call out your name in agony as she burns to death." And then he was gone.

Lancelot leapt off the bed, throwing on his clothes as Guinevere pulled the dress slowly over her head, dazed. "I'll kill every man that comes in this room," he told her, "and then we'll make our escape."

But she just sat there, shaking her head. "It's over, Lance. And it's just as well, I suppose. It's no more than I deserve."

He rushed back to the bed and sat beside her, taking her hand. "That's not true," he said to her. "All you did was fall in love. He's a hypocrite. He's broken your marriage vows many times, with many women."

She smiled grimly, pointing to the door. "Go out there and ask anyone, man or woman, if they agree."

Lance was silent. She was absolutely right. No one in the Kingdom would defend her. No one. It was up to him to do it. But, as expert a fighter as he was, he was only one man, and he would be severely outnumbered.

Lancelot was still thinking furiously about how he could get Guinevere out of the castle alive when she suddenly said, "Do you believe in an afterlife, Lance?"

The question shook him out of his reverie. "Pardon?" he asked her.

"Do you believe there is life afterwards?" she persisted him, looking into his eyes. "Do you think we might be together again, somehow?" Now she was starting to cry again.

His jaw set. "We're not finished being together in this life, yet. Come on." He grabbed her hand and pulled her through the bedchamber to the front door of his room. He opened the door and looked out into the corridor. There was no one in sight.

They ran down the hallway, through the dining room and the ballroom, to the front atrium of the castle. But then, they stopped short. Sir Francis was posted by the door that led outside.

"He told us the two of you might be by," Frank said dryly.

The couple approached him, still hand in hand. "Please, Frank. I beg you. Let us pass," Lancelot appealed to his fellow Knight.

Frank regarded him coolly. "It's my life, if I let you get away."

"What about HER life?" Lance asked him, circling his arm around Gail's waist.

"What about it?" Frank said. "She betrayed the King."

"The last I checked, I was in the room, too," Lance said, shaking his head. He was beginning to realize the real truth of what Guinevere had been saying. He was equally guilty of the offense, if indeed there had even been one, yet she was the one who was going to be publicly reviled for it.

Gail stepped forward and put her hand on Frank's arm. "Please, Frank. We're in love. Can't you close your eyes for just a moment? Please?"

Sir Francis looked down at her. Her expression was so forlorn. She was giving him what, centuries later, would be referred to as "the doe eyes". None of the men in their group had ever been able to resist those.

He sighed. "Go. You have one minute, and then I'm going to have to start yelling."

"Thank you, Frank," Lance said to him. He grabbed Gail's hand again, and they fled from the castle. He took her to the stables.

"Wait here," he told her. "I'll get the horses."

Lancelot slipped around the stable building as Guinevere looked around nervously. The grounds were quiet. Now she knew why the cliche went that things were too quiet, because they were. It was eerie, really. Was Arthur going to let them escape, after all? Had he taken mercy on them?

Lance was wondering the same thing as he untied the horses and led them out of their stalls. It was obvious that Arthur loved Guinevere; was he taking pity on her, enabling her to get away? But then a second, more horrible thought occurred to Lance. Was Arthur letting them leave the castle so that they would think they had gotten away free, only to send his Knights after them to hunt them down? That was what Lancelot might do, in Arthur's position. No, the King wasn't letting them escape. Not at all. He was merely toying with them.

Still, they had to try. Lancelot had been in training for a situation like this all his life. This was why he had pushed himself so hard all of those summer days, when it would have been far easier just to lay in the shade with a cold drink. It was as if he'd known that he would be charged with the protection of the most precious treasure in the land. His petit bijou.

"We'll ride East," Lance said, leading the horses out of the stable building, "and then we'll decide - "

She was gone.

Oh, God. My God, Lance thought. He had her. Arthur had her.

"Looking for something?" Sir Lucifer said. He came out from around the side of the stable, holding Guinevere by the arm. His dagger was at her throat, and he was grinning. "Is this piece of trash what you seek?"

"Don't call her that," Lancelot said sharply.

"How very noble of you to defend her," Lucifer said, still smiling. "She must be very skilled, if you're willing to die for her. Perhaps I should have paid her a visit one evening, myself."

"It's not like that," Gail said defiantly. "Lance and I are in love."

"Is that so?" Lucifer said. He sneered. "Well, then, more's the pity. You should have just stuck to the house maids, Lance, like all of us do." He was lying through his teeth on that particular score; Lucifer himself had not had the pleasure, not ever. But if he had been so inclined, he would certainly not have picked the Queen to trifle with. Love, indeed. Now they were both going to die, for no apparent reason. Oh, well. Too bad for them. Soon Mordred would be King, and Lucifer his second-in-command, and all that would be left of these two would be a legend that was based on adultery and lies, in his opinion.

"Love? Don't make me laugh," Lucifer continued sardonically. He looked at Guinevere. "Of course he said he loved you, to get you to open your legs for him. But if you think he's going to stick around here and die for you, you're crazy. Let me guess: he told you he was going to have to leave here, didn't he?"

Gail was startled. How would Lucifer know that?

Lance was glaring at Lucifer. The deceitful, treacherous bastard. Lance had known for quite some time that this particular Knight wasn't who he purported to be, nor was Mordred. He had seen those two with their heads together around the castle, exchanging sly smiles behind the King's back. But Lancelot had found himself in the same position as they had been when it had come to him and Guinevere; he'd had no proof of any wrongdoing.

But he was angry about what Lucifer was saying to her now. How dare he accuse Lancelot of trifling with her in that way? "Don't listen to him, Gail," he said pleadingly. "The only reason I said I would leave here was to spare your life, not to save my own. But the moment I said it, I realized how ridiculous it was. I could never be anywhere without you, ever again. They can cut off my head, as long as I get to look upon you and tell you that I love you right before they do it."

"What a touching speech," Arthur said sarcastically. He had been approaching from behind Lance, and this time, he had all of the Knights with him. "It's too bad you're not the writer. You could have a bright future writing teary, melodramatic romance novels for frustrated housewives. But, alas, you'll be dead tomorrow, and the housewives will have to wait for centuries to see how many shades of grey there truly are."

Arthur looked from Lance to Gail and back again. "But me, I'm afraid that I myself only see things in black and white. You both betrayed me, and so you must die. Cut. Print. Roll credits."

"I'm very sorry we hurt your feelings, Arthur," Gail said in a subdued voice.

"My feelings?" Arthur walked up to the spot where Lucifer was holding her. "Let go of her, Sir Lucifer," Arthur said, just as quietly. "Take pity on your Queen. She only has a few more hours left to live."

Lucifer took his knife away from Gail's throat, and let go of her arm. He walked over to stand with the other Knights as Arthur faced his wife. "Do you think this is about my feelings?" he asked her angrily. "No. It's about your treachery, sweetheart. You are my property, and I don't appreciate anyone using my property without my permission."

"She's not property. Not yours, or anyone else's," Lance said sharply. "She is a person, and she's my person. God decreed that we should be together. We are in love, Arthur. Let us get on those horses and ride away, and you should never look upon us again."

"And let you just get away with it?" Arthur raged, turning to Lancelot. "Oh, no. You always just get away with it. I mean to see that, just this once, you don't."

The Knights exchanged puzzled glances at that. What was the King talking about?

Guinevere was puzzled too, but now, she was starting to get a funny feeling. The people from her country of origin called it "deja vu". She looked at Lance. When she'd seen him here that first day, she had already been in love with him. But now that she thought about it, that was very strange. How could you be so deeply in love with someone you'd never met before?

Lance was glaring at Arthur. "Fine. Then kill me. Again. But, let Gail go."

Arthur strode up to him. "Ummm...let me think about that. What will you give me in return, if I do?"

"My life," Lancelot said, looking him in the eye. "Isn't that what it always comes down to, in the end?"

"Well, guess what?" Arthur retorted. "I've decided that's not enough, any more." He turned to the Knights. "Take them to the dungeon," he ordered the men. "Put them in adjoining cells. Enjoy your last few hours together," he said to the couple. "You can kiss through the cell bars, if you wish. You can probably even fornicate, if you get really creative. It'll be years and years before they put security cameras in jails." He smirked at Gail. "I'll see you at the bonfire, sweetheart. Perhaps I'll bring some marshmallows."

The Knights moved forward to seize the pair, but a couple of them were looking troubled now.

"So, that's it?" Sir Samuel asked the King.

Arthur turned around slowly, looking at him. "Problem, Samuel?" he asked coolly.

Sam was uncomfortable, but he felt as if he should speak up. Poor Guinevere was looking so frightened. "Do they not get to present their side, before sentence is passed?"

"Their side?" Arthur said, raising his voice. "And what would you have them say? They are adulterers, pure and simple!"

"Is that what you call it when YOU do it?" Sir Francis asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

The King glared at him. "Mind your tongue, Frank, lest you lose it." He looked at the rest of the Knights. "Does anyone else have anything to say to me? It'd be just as easy to fill two spots at the round table as one."

The men exchanged glances, but none of them spoke. "That's what I thought," the King said. "Now, take them."

He walked towards the castle, and the Knights followed. Mordred and Lucifer had moved forward to grab Guinevere. They were no fools; if Lancelot wanted to try to mount an escape, he would have to tangle with Dean, Frank, Sam, and Chuck. They didn't think much of Lancelot's chances; he had no weapon, or he would have drawn it by now. But they had seen him train in hand-to-hand combat, and he was very skilled. Better for them to take the woman.

And Lance was considering it too, but he was afraid that Guinevere might be harmed if he made the attempt. So he allowed himself to be led through the castle and down to the dungeon. It seemed to him as though some of his compatriots might be sympathetic to their situation, based on their protests to the King. Maybe there could yet be a way.

They were installed in two separate cells, but the cells were side by side, as the King had instructed. Then the Knights turned their backs on the couple and left. Mordred and Lucifer threw the two of them scornful looks on their way out. Chuck, Sam and Frank lingered a bit longer before they also exited, and their expressions were hard to discern.

Then it was just Sir Dean. He stood looking at Lancelot, and he was shaking his head slowly. "What's wrong with you, Lance?" he asked his fellow Knight. "What the hell are you doing?"

Lance had no answer for his friend. He just hung his head. He wasn't ashamed of being in love, but Lancelot was now telling himself that he should have left her alone, even though it would have killed him to do so. Now, his actions were going to end up killing her.

"I'm sorry, mon ami," he said to Dean. "But, I love her. I could no sooner stop doing that than I could stop breathing." He turned to look at Gail. "I should not have kissed you that day. I should have conducted myself properly."

"Would you have stopped, if I'd have asked you to stop?" she asked him curiously.

"Of course I would have," Lancelot said, agitated. She didn't think he would have forced himself on her, did she?

"Well, I didn't ask you to stop, did I?" she asked quietly. Then she looked at Dean. "I'm just as responsible," she told him. "But we love each other, Dean. We really do."

Dean looked from one of them to the other. Then he shook his head again. "Well, that's too bad," he told them. "It really is. I sympathize. But, you dug your own graves."

Still, he just stood there, looking at both of them, as if trying to decide what to do. Then he said, "I'm not saying I think what you did was right. I'm not saying that. But it just seems wrong to me that he's gonna kill you both for something he's been doing himself, constantly, ever since the Queen got here."

Lance and Gail exchanged glances, nodding. "Thank you for that," she said to Dean in a quiet tone.

Lancelot moved to the front of his cell. "Then let her go, Dean. The King can have my head, but please, set the Queen free. Please, Dean. You know what they'll do to her."

Dean frowned. "Then it'll be my head he takes."

Lance let out a breath, frustrated. "We can stand up to him, Dean. I saw the looks on their faces, and I heard what they said. Except for Lucifer and Mordred, the other Knights don't think it's right, either. We could all band together and deliver her to safety."

"And then what, Lance?" Dean asked him.

"What do you mean?" Lance said, confused. "Then she would live!"

"Do you really think he would just leave her be?" Dean said, lifting an eyebrow. "And even if by some miracle he did, what happens to all of us? I mean, I love the Queen as much as the next Knight. Well, maybe not as much as you have," he quipped, his lips twitching, "but I don't know if I'm willing to die for her, exactly. And Frank's wife is with child again. Do you really want his death on your conscience?"

As Lancelot thought about that, Gail sighed. "No," she said. "We don't want that on our conscience." Then she looked Dean in the eye. "I don't suppose you'd consider looking the other way for a moment and letting Lance escape?" she asked him hopefully.

Dean's laughed shortly. "Hey, if I'm too much of a coward to die for you, I'm sure as hell not gonna die for him," he said to her.

Lance sighed. "I wouldn't expect you to," he said to Dean. "But I hope you can live with yourself once you see Guinevere burn."

Dean frowned. "Yeah. That, I don't know about. I'm sorry for both of you. May God have mercy on your souls. And on mine." He turned around and walked out.

Lance and Gail moved immediately towards each other. He reached through the bars of his cell and took her hand. "Why would you ask him to let me escape?" he asked her softly.

"Why?" she asked him, surprised by his question. "So that you would live, of course."

Lance smiled grimly. "I don't intend to live, if you do not," he told her.

Gail looked at him for a moment. Then she said, "What did Arthur mean by what he said to you? He said you 'always' get away with it. And you said that he could kill you 'again'. What's happening, Lance?"

"It's complicated," he said evasively.

"Will you not respect me enough to give me an answer?" she asked him coolly. "I have a few more hours to live yet, and I doubt I'll do much sleeping tonight."

Lance sighed, squeezing her hand briefly. "All right, Gail." How could he put this, so that she did not think he was crazy? Then again, did it really matter? Unless he could think of a way to free them, they would both be dead at sunrise. "We've done this before," he told her, "and we'll do it again, I'm sure. Our Father is easily bored, it would seem."

"'Our Father'?" she repeated, alarmed. "Surely you're not saying...we're not brother and sister?!" She felt like she was going to vomit.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Cas laughed. Well, in a manner of speaking..."No," he said quickly. "I meant, God. God is our Father."

He wasn't making any sense, and Gail was getting annoyed now. "Well, of course He is. I know that, Lance. But what are you talking about? What do you mean?"

"I told you it was complicated," he said mildly. "Let me try to explain."

A few hours later, they could see the sun coming up through the narrow window high up on the wall. Gail's head was spinning from everything that Lance had told her, and he hadn't even come close to telling it all. The question was, how much of it should she believe? What he was saying was absolutely insane. People didn't live multiple lives, spanning thousands and thousands of years. How could that even be possible? But then, how to explain how she had felt when she'd first laid eyes on him? She had felt as if she'd loved him all her life. And from what he was saying, she pretty much had, and she would do so again.

But...a box that you could put on a table, that would give out any piece of information you asked of it, all by using something called a mouse? The only mice she was familiar with were the tiny creatures that ran from crack to crack in the castle. And, big metal machines, flying around in the sky, conveying people to different realms throughout the world? Were such things even possible? Or was Lance just trying to calm her by telling her a fantasy in which they could one day be together again, so that she might more readily be able to accept their deaths now?

She still hadn't quite made up her mind what to believe when Arthur arrived, with the Knights in tow.

"Good morning, my dear," he said to Guinevere. "I trust you slept well?" She said nothing, and he shrugged. "Oh. Well, no matter. You won't be tired for long." He nodded to Lucifer, who unlocked the door of her cell and pulled her out of it.

Arthur looked at Lancelot. "I trust you said your goodbyes last night. I'm going to have you removed now, but I warn you, if you're thinking about putting up a struggle, I'll just have Sir Lucifer cut her throat, right now."

"No, you won't," Lance said bitterly. "You need your public spectacle."

Arthur tipped his head in acknowledgement of Lance's statement. "All right, you've got me there. Yes, I want to make an example of her to all of my subjects. Show them the consequences of crossing me."

"Since when is THAT what we're about?" Sir Charles spoke up. "I thought your Kingdom was supposed to be synonymous with unity, and fairness. Isn't that why we sit at a round table? How does that reconcile with what you're saying and doing now?"

Arthur glared at him. "Oh, and I suppose that what they keep doing to me is fair? How is it that I'm always the bad guy? What about HIM?" He jerked his head at Lance. "He always gets everything, and I always get screwed, in the end. And not in the good way!" He looked at Lucifer. "If Lancelot tries anything, cut her as many times as you can without killing her. Then she'll suffer even more when we light her on fire."

Lucifer tightened his grip on Guinevere, grinning at Lancelot. Then the other Knights converged on Lance, seizing him once they'd opened his cell door.

The men pulled the couple out of the dungeon, through the castle and outside, on the front lawn. There was a pole standing upright, with wood piled beneath it. The servants were all grouped around the pyre. Some of them held burning torches, including a couple of the chambermaids Guinevere knew to have visited the King's bedroom on numerous occasions. She looked at her husband. "Nice touch, Arthur," she said sarcastically.

"Just letting you know your place in the scheme of things, sweetheart," Arthur retorted. "Then again, if you'd known your place to begin with, you wouldn't be about to be thrown on the barbecue now."

Lancelot began to struggle as Lucifer dragged Guinevere to the pyre and lashed her to the pole. This wasn't really going to happen, was it? Legend had it that the brave Sir Lancelot had rescued the fair Queen Guinevere from being burned at the stake. Dean was supposed to have released Lance from his jail cell so that he could obtain a horse and a weapon, and perform a daring last-minute rescue.

Gail was looking out at all the townspeople as Lucifer tied the rope tighter. They were jeering at her, calling for her death. Calling her a whore, and worse. No, there wouldn't be any help there.

She looked at Lance, who was struggling mightily now. But there were six men holding him, and he was just a human man, with no special powers. Well, except for the power of love, but she supposed that wouldn't be enough. She decided she would choose to believe the tale that he had spun last night. They had both sat down on the floors of their respective cells, leaning against the bars and each other, with their heads together. He had held her hand all night, and he had nuzzled her cheek with his as he spoke. When she cried, he would reach up and wipe the tears away. Once he had even licked one, just so he could have something that had come from her inside of him. He kept telling her that they would be together again, many times, and that God would one day take pity on them and allow them to marry. She had smiled when he'd said that. What a wonderful fantasy that would be.

But as she looked at Lance now, Gail realized it didn't really matter if what he'd said was true or not. He had soothed her and comforted her in her last hours on Earth, demonstrating his love for her, and she appreciated that.

"All right, let's get this done," Arthur said, as Lucifer stepped back from the pyre. He looked at Guinevere. "Have you anything to say, sweetheart? I know how much you like to be heard."

She looked at the townspeople. "I wish I could convey to you how wrong this is," she said loudly. They booed and hissed at her. One of them, a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Aurielle, threw a piece of pastry at Gail, striking her in the forehead.

Arthur looked at the woman in appreciation, once he'd realized what the pastry was. "A tart," he said, smirking. "Bring that woman to me once this is over. She will eat at my table for a week." He took one of the torches out of the hand of one of the servants, waving it in Gail's direction. "All right. Move it along, sweetheart."

She looked at all of the Knights' faces, passing over those of Mordred and Lucifer for the more sympathetic visages of Chuck, Frank, Sam and Dean. But, sympathetic or not, there would be no help there, either. She couldn't really blame them. It would be several more centuries before they would be able to bring themselves to make the saving of innocent lives their priority. Chuck was even struggling with the concept now, in modern times.

"I hold you blameless," she told them. "You are men, products of the time you live in. But you will all remember what you see here today, and it will change your outlook forever." She looked at Dean. "Do not hang yourself tonight, Sir Dean. That would send you to my husband's side, when I would much rather have you on ours."

He looked at her, startled. How did she know? He had vowed to himself that if she burned today, that was exactly what he was going to do tonight. He let go of Lancelot immediately and fell to his knees, pleading her forgiveness, and Sam followed suit.

Frank moved to do the same, and Gail looked at him. "Don't," she said sharply. "You're a father now. You have to stick around. Teach your children that women are people too, and that attitudes must change."

Then she looked at Chuck warmly. "Even now, you're a work in progress. But you have to stop peering into the dark, lest it engulf you. Being bad has only ever made you miserable."

Then she finally looked at Lance, who was still struggling mightily. "It's all right, ma cherie, you can stop now," Gail said to him. She smiled sadly, even as the tears started to spill down her cheeks. "I'm ready to go. Then we can begin the next chapter of our lives." She was trying to be brave for him. He looked so scared. She wished she could reach out and touch his face one more time and kiss the worry line on his forehead away. "I love you, Lance. Je t'aime."

"I love you, Gail. I always have, and I always will," he told her. He had stopped struggling now because he wanted to be brave for her, but the tears were spilling down his cheeks as well. "If our Father is merciful, I will see you soon."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Our Father is always merciful when it comes to you, Castiel. But at least I get to watch you suffer, first." He bent to lower the flame to the pyre.

"Don't, Crowley!" Cas yelled. "Please! I beg you!"

Crowley paused. Was he really going to do this? Set her to burn? Was he really this evil? This would be a new low, even for him. Legend had it that Lancelot was supposed to rescue Guinevere from being burned, but here the King stood, with the torch in his hand. Once again, the decision was being left up to him. He could stand up right now, have her untied, and dismiss the spectators. But, then what? Go through the rest of eternity as a loser, someone they could use as a doormat, while laughing at him behind his back? Isn't that what they all did now, anyway? God had stacked the deck in Castiel's favour, and Crowley was sick of it. He dropped the torch on the pyre.

Castiel resumed his struggling, and his panic was such that he nearly broke free. "Gail!" he shouted in anguish.

But incredibly, she was smiling. Arthur had called Lance "Castiel", and Castiel had in turn called Arthur "Crowley". That meant that the story Lance had told her last night was true! Her heart leapt. They WOULD be together again! She just had to endure this, right now.

The smoke was building, and the flames were rising. She could feel the heat from the fire now. Soon it would be burning her skin, and she would die in agony. She hoped it would be quick. She was trying to be brave for Cas, but her heart was nearly bursting out of her chest with fear. Her eyes were watering from the smoke and the heat, and she was weeping in terror. If she closed her eyes, she wouldn't have to see the flames creeping up ever closer to her. But then she wouldn't be able to see Cas, and she needed to be able to look at him to keep her faith in his tale alive.

Then the flames licked at her feet and she screamed, and so did Cas. And by the time the fire reached her torso, the Knights had released their grip on him, and Cas had lost his mind. She was no longer screaming; rather, her body was melting, right before his eyes. He had never seen anything so horrifying, not in his entire existence. Not in any of his existences. It would take him quite a while to get over this horror, and his sorrow.

He looked at Crowley with pure hatred. "Every time I think you can't sink to a new low, you prove me wrong," he told his Brother. "And you wonder why our Father does not bless you? He should smite you right out of existence! He keeps giving you chance after chance, and you do nothing but prove what a disgusting piece of filth you are, over and over again. I will never forgive you for this. Never. Now chop off my head and be quick about it."

Crowley sighed. A part of him already regretted what he had done. Better he should have tied Castiel to the stake, instead. But somehow, it always seemed to turn out that it was Gail who suffered the most. Such was their Father's idea of love.

He reached out his hand and Lucifer put a sword into it. "Take your time," he said, grinning.

Castiel knelt on the ground in front of Crowley, then prostrated himself further forward, presenting an easy target. "There's just something about you in that position that appeals to me," Lucifer said cheerfully. "I hope to see it again, one day."

"Well, you can keep dreaming, because you never will," Cas said sharply, but he did not look up. He was eager for this charade to be over now. "This is Crowley's show; let him run it."

Crowley glared at Lucifer momentarily, and the Devil backed off. That was OK; his day would come. Then Crowley looked down at Cas and said, "You will never understand my point of view. I do what I have to do, Castiel. I wasn't born with a silver spoon and a sense of entitlement, like you were."

Cas laughed derisively, but he still kept his head down. "And YOU will never understand MY point of view. If I were born with a silver spoon, I would have choked myself with it by now," he said bitterly. "You think you are long-suffering? Try being me, sometime. I have turned the other cheek so often that my face is black and blue."

"Well, that's what you get when you're one of the good guys," Crowley said smugly. "Me, I'll stay how I am, thanks. No white hat for me. It's just not worth it. Of course, it's hard to wear any colour hat when you don't have a head. I'll see you around, Cas." He lifted the sword up high and chopped off his Brother's head.

A dog barked, bringing Crowley out of his reverie. He was smiling. No wonder he was the King of Hell; that had been one of the best days of his life. Actually, of any one of his lives. He knew it was mean, but it had been such a sweet feeling to have chopped off Castiel's head like that. For one brief, shining moment, Crowley's Camelot had been to hold his Brother's decapitated head by the hair, the neck dripping with blood, and show it to everyone who had been gathered there. They all bowed down to him then, fearing him. Even Lucifer. What a glorious day that had been.

Even if he'd had to flambe poor Gail in the process, Crowley thought, smirking. No wonder the poor dear had such an aversion to the heat, and hot temperatures. Truth be told, deep down, he did feel badly about that, even to this day. Perhaps that was why he could never bring himself to refuse her when she looked at him with the doe eyes. It had been very cruel of him to burn the little trollop alive like that. And apparently, their Father had so greatly disapproved of this act of Crowley's that He had decided to keep throwing Castiel and Gail as a couple right back in Crowley's face. And every time Crowley had tried to acquire Gail for his own, Castiel had found a new and effective way of slapping his Brother's hand and getting her back. God had humbled Crowley by turning him into Fergus McLeod in his next incarnation, a creature so wretched and pathetic that his own mother had abandoned him as a small child. He had been taken in by a local man who had just been after the free labour for his farm, and young Fergus had grown up being beaten and abused in every imaginable way by that man and his sons. Then, when he'd grown to adulthood and finally made his escape, he'd been a poverty-ridden alcoholic. He had finally broken down and parted with a few shillings to hire a whore to lay with him, and she had caught pregnant with his son. Then she had come to Fergus for help, and he'd turned her away. So the cycle of hatred and abuse had continued, and even though Crowley had had some varying degrees of success in his incarnations since then, he had never had as victorious a day since as the one in which he had killed his Brother and sister-in-law with his own two hands.

He looked down at the cell phone he still held in his hand and laughed mirthlessly. Then the King of Hell returned his phone to his pocket and snapped himself back to his rightful Kingdom.

Lucifer had his feet up on God's desk, and he was smoking a big cigar, using a very frightened young male Angel as an ashtray. Every time the ash would get a little long, Lucifer would look down at poor Riley and say, "Hmmm...which receptacle should I use next?" So far Riley had received ashes in both of his hands, one ear, and his navel. What worried him was that the cigar was burning down now; where would the butt end up, when Lucifer was done smoking?

The Devil was having the time of his life screwing with the Angels. He was going to take his time and savour this. The only thing that had displeased him so far was that there was not a drop of alcohol to be found anywhere in the place. Not that he'd exactly expected to find a sleazy bar in Heaven, but Lucifer would have thought that Bobby of all people would have a secret stash somewhere in his office. But it was as clean as a whistle. Lucifer shook his head. You couldn't count on anyone any more.

Then he had an inspiration. He'd been about to do it, anyway; he might as well accelerate the process, and kill two birds with one stone. So to speak.

"I think I'd better quit smoking," he said to Riley. "I've heard it can kill you." He grabbed the Angel's face and squeezed his cheeks, hard. Riley's mouth opened and Lucifer stuck his cigar in it. Then he held Riley's face there for a moment, relishing the smell of burning flesh, and the terrified look on the young Angel's face.

Lucifer let go of Riley and said, "Go, and tell the other Angels..." Then he stopped and put his hand over his own mouth. "Oops. You can't really tell anybody anything now, can you? You have an owie."

Tears were silently flowing out of Riley's eyes and down his cheeks, and he was trying not to whimper in pain. Lucifer rolled his eyes. "Nobody likes a crybaby, Riley." Then he brightened. "I know what to do!" Lucifer reached down to the desk and grabbed a pen and piece of paper. He scribbled a note, then grabbed a letter opener. "I have a better idea," Lucifer said conversationally. He drove the letter opener into Riley's chest, pinning the note there. Now Riley did whimper with pain. "I'm going to send you to see some friends of mine," Lucifer told him. "Knock on the door and give them this message." He tapped the note on the young Angel's chest. "Then you can stay there, or come back, or do whatever you want. But make sure they get this message." Then he put his hand on Riley's forehead, and gave him the push to the bunker.

Lucifer smiled. He was having some fun now. Too bad he wouldn't be able to see the expression on Castiel's face when this little package was delivered.

He strode over to the office door and yanked it open. "Laurel, honey, can you do me a favour?" She sat at the reception desk, terrified and unable to move. He'd immobilized her when he'd first arrived, and Laurel had had to sit there and listen to Patricia's screams as Lucifer was violating her. Then Laurel had witnessed Patricia stumbling out of the office looking dazed and disheveled, her clothes and hair in disarray. Laurel had asked her in a hushed voice if she was all right, and Patricia had looked at her blankly, as if they'd never met before. Then the older woman had simply walked away.

Fortunately for Laurel, Lucifer's appetite in that particular area had been sated for the moment, and right now, he was only interested in causing fear and mayhem. "I need a little filing done." He waved his hand, and all of the files in all of Heaven came flying out of desks, credenzas, and cabinets. "That should keep you busy for a while," Lucifer said to her. "I'll be having company soon, and we won't want to be disturbed." He snapped his fingers, releasing her, and Laurel hurried away.

Then he went back into the office and opened the back credenza, taking out the phone.

"He's been banging on the door for the past ten minutes," Frank was saying to Dean. Gail's brother and Jody had missed Bobby's angry arrival and his and the Winchesters' hasty exit from the bunker, so he had no idea what had transpired in Heaven. All Frank knew was that there was a guy named Riley pounding on the bunker door, saying he was an Angel, and he had a message for them from Lucifer.

"Cas," Dean said, "you need to hear this." He put his phone down on the coffee table and put it on speaker.

Frank repeated what he'd just said. "You'd better get over here, Cas. The guy's freaking out. If he's really an Angel, you'll know, right?"

"Yes, of course I will," Cas replied. "What did he say his name was, again?"

"Why?" Frank said, bemused. "Do you know them all?"

"Yes, I do, Frank," Cas said earnestly.

Dean looked at Sam, Bobby and Gail, then back at Cas. "You do not," Dean and Frank said at the same time, and they all smiled briefly.

"Jinx. You owe me a beer," Frank said.

"Ordinarily, that might be funny," Bobby said impatiently, "but I don't think any of us are in the mood to laugh right now. Lucifer's in Heaven, Frank, and he kicked me out of my office and turned me back into a human. He probably sent that guy down here to screw with us."

"What? Wait, what?!" Frank exclaimed. They all heard a voice in the background, and then Frank said, "Sorry, Bobby, two people talking at the same time. First of all, holy frig, and secondly, holy friggin' frig. Tommy says the guy said his name is Riley, and he's screaming in pain, saying he can't talk anymore."

Castiel was alarmed. He looked at Bobby and Gail. "Riley. He's a new arrival," Cas said to them. "Young, meek, a little awkward." Cas was being generous in his description. In life, Riley had been what people who were less kind would have called a loser. Nothing had ever gone right for him. When he was a kid, his parents had blamed him for everything that went wrong around the house, whether those things were his fault, or not. Then, when he was in school, it was the same thing. No matter which of his classmates had been throwing paper airplanes at the teacher when her back was turned, when she turned back around, it was always Riley who she would send to the principal's office. The fact that Riley had never been able to make a paper airplane that could fly would make no difference to the teacher, or to the principal. Then, when he was old enough to date, Riley could never get a second date with a girl, because he could never seem to do anything right on the first one. At this point in his life, it had been hard to tell if Riley was just a total screw-up, or a nice guy who bad things just kept happening to, or both. Or maybe he was a perfectly competent young man who had himself so badly psyched out from years of being blamed for everything that he could no longer function properly. A walking, talking self-fulfilling prophecy. But in any event, it had all turned out to be a moot point once Riley had entered his first year of college. He was running late for his first round of exams in his first semester, and he'd stepped into the street because he'd seen his bus coming. But what Riley hadn't seen was the bus coming in the other direction, and then suddenly, he had found himself in Heaven. And he'd been doing all right, too, making the adjustment. There seemed to be a fair amount of lovable losers in Heaven, Riley had discovered. Everybody talked about this one Angel named Castiel, who was the bravest and the best they had, as being a screw-up who had risen above his own one-time incompetence to lead a group of elite Angels who were looking to throw Lucifer back into another cage.

But then Lucifer had suddenly appeared in Heaven, larger than life and even more evil than they could have ever imagined. The Angels were all panicked now, cowering in fear. Lucifer had reportedly kicked God out of his own office and taken his place, and the girls who worked under Patricia were all whispering that their supervisor had had a confrontation with the Devil that had been so awful that their boss had become mentally unhinged.

Riley had been walking down the hall in Heaven when suddenly, he was pushed up against the wall. Lucifer had been walking by, exploring, and he had felt the need to pick on someone. Now that he was here, Lucifer didn't quite know what to do with himself, and it was starting to piss him off. What did people do? Why could he never seem to focus long enough to formulate a plan? It was his time now, and he wanted to make the most of it. But, how?

Until he figured that out, he thought he would assert his dominance. So he had seized poor Riley and popped him back to the High Office, playing with him for a while before sending him down to Earth to bait Castiel.

And now Riley was outside the bunker, pounding on the door, but they weren't letting him in. He had spoken around the blisters that were forming in his mouth from the lit cigar that Lucifer had inserted in there, even though it had caused him great agony to do so. The letter opener in his chest hurt too, but he didn't dare take it out until he had given Castiel the message, for fear of making Lucifer angry. If Lucifer could do such horrible things when he was smiling, what could he do if he were displeased?

Cas looked at his friends. "I'd better get over there. Can you drive Gail back? I'll meet you at the bunker in a few minutes. If it truly is Riley, we'll have to find out from him what Lucifer wants. But just in case it's an emissary of Lucifer's, I will speak to him alone."

"Why can't Gail just pop us over there, if you insist on going first?" Sam asked him.

"I'm not leaving Baby here," Dean protested. "Who knows where the hell we'll have to go next? She needs to be safely in the garage."

But Gail was looking at Cas suspiciously. "Why are you really going over there alone?" she asked.

He smiled grimly. "It's as I said. Don't worry, I'm not planning anything," he told her, taking her hand. "We all know by now that I'm not capable of dealing with him on my own. I just thought I would see what the message is. And if that is Riley, he's probably very scared. I think he will need to talk to another Angel."

Cas was telling the truth. He knew he couldn't just go rushing into Heaven and kick Lucifer's ass, much as he'd love to. He needed a plan, and he needed backup. First, though, he wanted to talk to Riley, if indeed that was who it was, and find out what the message was. And Cas could only imagine how terrified the young Angel must be.

He kissed Gail on the forehead. "Don't worry, I'll be there when you get there. I just want a few minutes alone with the young man."

She nodded, trusting him. He gave her hand a squeeze, and then popped out of the house.

Gail sighed. Well, at least she would get to take a ride in the Impala. It had been ages since she'd been in the back seat of Dean's Baby. She missed those days, in a lot of ways. Things had seemed so much simpler then. But there was a lot of good in their lives now, too. She and Cas were married, their family had expanded, and there was a lot of love to be shared. But for every yin, there was always a yang. The idea of Lucifer sitting up in Bobby's office made her feel sick. Here they had been, plodding along on their Tablet missions, thinking that he would just sit around and wait until they were ready to defeat him. But, he had found a way. Which Angel had cracked? Now, they could just take whatever plans they'd had and throw them out the window.

"Let's go," she said to Dean. The men rose, and Gail put her hand on Dean's arm. "And feel free to floor it."

Castiel was appalled. He'd popped over to the back yard behind the bunker, and he saw Riley at the bunker door. The young Angel was still knocking, but his energy was waning now. Frank hadn't told him that Cas was coming. If the guy wasn't an Angel, they didn't want him tipped off. And because the door was solid metal, Frank didn't know that poor Riley was bleeding from the mouth and from the chest because he couldn't see him. They should consider installing a peephole in the door, Frank had thought, if people were just going to show up out of the blue like this. Not that he would have let the guy in anyway, because he could very well be lying just to gain access. But, still.

Cas recognized Riley as an Angel right away, so he greeted him in a gentle voice. But when Riley turned around and Cas saw the condition that the young Angel was in, he was sad and angry at the same time. He approached Riley and stretched his arm out, touching the young Angel's face. Riley's mouth stopped bleeding, and the pain lessened.

Then Cas looked at the piece of paper pinned to Riley's chest. It was folded, so he couldn't read the writing on it. "Lucifer did this?" he asked, frowning.

"Yeah," Riley said, making a face. "He's one scary dude."

Cas sighed. He could only imagine what Lucifer had subjected this young man to. He put his hand on Riley's shoulder. "I have to get that letter opener out, Riley," Cas told him. "It'll hurt for a moment, but I'll heal you right away, afterwards. Okay?"

But Riley was shaking his head. "No, we'd better not," he said fearfully. "He said the note was for Castiel."

Cas was puzzled. "I'm Castiel."

Riley's eyes widened. "You're Castiel? But, you're so...so young!"

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Cas smiled. "Do me a favour and tell my wife that," he said to the young Angel. "I think the fact that I've been around since Creation daunts her sometimes. And I'm pretty sure I saw a grey hair come in the other day."

Riley answered Cas's smile. "OK," he said, screwing up his courage. "I'm ready. You can take it out now."

"I already have," Cas said. He had the letter opener in one hand, and the note in the other. He threw the letter opener on the ground and put his hand flat on Riley's chest, healing the wound.

"Thanks!" Riley said, wide-eyed again. He hadn't even felt it. Then it was his turn to look puzzled. "What should I call you, Sir?"

Cas almost looked behind him. Sir? It was a good thing Sam and Dean weren't here right now. They would tease him mercilessly. Gail would probably join in, too. Riley had better not call her Ma'am, though, or she would zap him into next week. Cas smiled again. He couldn't help it. Riley just seemed to be bringing that out in him.

"Please just call me Cas, Riley," he said. "All of my friends do."

Riley was amazed. Wait till he told his friends in Heaven. They all talked about Castiel in hushed tones, as if he was God, or something. But he was being so nice. So down-to-earth. He was even funny. And all the girls practically swooned when they talked about Cas being a newlywed. Riley hoped he would get to meet Cas's wife, too. If he did, and if he ever dared go back up to Heaven, he could get the girls' attention by being able to talk first-hand about the couple.

"Pleased to meet you, Cas," Riley said in an awed tone.

Cas nodded, but he frowned. "I wish it was under different circumstances." He unfolded the bloody note and read it, then crumpled it in his fist. His eyes flashed, and Riley took a step back. Suddenly, Cas didn't look quite so friendly any more.

"What's the matter, Cas?" Riley asked him nervously. "What does it say?"

Cas's eyes were flat now. "It says that he will kill one Angel for every second that it takes until we surrender." He was enraged, but he was also very frightened now. Lucifer would do it, too. Of course he would. What was to stop him? Who could stop him?

Gail appeared in the back yard. "Dean set a land speed record, I think," she said, approaching the men. She saw the look on Cas's face. "What's wrong?" she asked.

He showed her the note, and she paled. "Oh, Cas. No. What are we going to do?"

"We'll have to call Crowley," he said grimly. "We have no choice. It's our only chance. The three of us combined should be able to drive him out. If we can't kill him outright, at least we can get him away from the Angels."

"Crowley?" Riley blurted out. "The King of Hell?"

Gail looked at him. She could see the young Angel's point. It would sound strange to her too, if she wasn't so used to it by now. "It's a long story, Riley," she told him.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am, I didn't mean to be rude," Riley said, as Cas winced inwardly. "I was just surprised," Riley continued. "The King of Hell, in Heaven?"

Gail did a very Deanlike double-take. Had Riley just called her Ma'am? Her? How wrinkled and decrepit did she look to him? She knew these Tablet missions had been grueling, but this was ridiculous. Maybe she'd better start a skin care program, or something. But, it had been a stressful few years.

Cas would have smiled under other circumstances, maybe even laughed. But he was beside himself right now. "It wouldn't be without precedent," he said in a clipped tone. "Wait here, please." He disappeared.

Gail pursed her lips. She knew how upset Cas must be. Whether Lucifer carried out his threat or not, Cas would be blaming himself. She looked at Riley. "So, how old do I look?" she asked him, trying to break the tension.

He looked startled. Young he may be, but Riley wasn't stupid. He knew that was a loaded question from a woman at the best of times, but if he offended Castiel's wife now, Riley thought he would rather take his chances with Lucifer. Castiel's reputation had preceded him when it came to his feelings for his wife, too.

Fortunately, he was spared from having to answer her question. The bunker door opened, and Cas walked out with Frank. "This is my brother-in-law Frank," Cas said to Riley. Once again, if the situation were not so deadly serious, Cas would have smiled then. He loved being able to call Frank that. "Frank will take you inside, and you can rest up and heal for a while," Cas went on. "Stay here, until I get back."

Frank put an arm around Gail's shoulders. "How are you doing, kiddo?" he asked her.

She gave him a quick hug. "If I ever have two seconds that are crisis-free, I'll let you know," she said dryly. Her brother nodded, giving her a squeeze. He understood.

"We have to go see Crowley now, Frank," Cas told him. "We'll be back...when we're back. Please keep everyone inside until then. We can't take any chances."

Frank nodded again. "I've got this, Cas. Don't worry." He looked down at Gail. "Please keep her safe, Cas."

Cas gave him a thin smile. "You know I will, Frank." Then he took Gail's hand and they both disappeared.

Crowley had brought a decanter of scotch to the meeting, but not the really good stuff. What the hell. Lucifer wasn't going to know the difference. Judging by the cheap plonk he'd been swilling at the mansion, Crowley figured the Devil would drink toilet water if you told him it had an alcohol content. Lucifer was just like a kid playing hooky from school; he just wanted to be bad. No refinement, no finesse.

The King of Hell had gotten quite a surprise when he'd arrived back at his office. The Hotline was ringing, and when he'd picked it up, expecting to hear Bobby's irascible growling, it had been Lucifer's jolly voice instead.

"What do you say to a summit meeting?" he'd asked Crowley.

"What are you talking about?" Crowley said, mystified. "Where's Bobby?"

"Probably down at the bunker, chewing the Winchesters' ears off," Lucifer said, smirking. "Oh, and I gave him a little parting gift, too. I changed him back into a real boy before I kicked his ass to the curb."

Crowley's mouth dropped open. "You turned him human?" he asked, dazed.

"Bingo," Lucifer confirmed cheerfully.

Crowley was absolutely gob smacked. He could picture Bobby, pounding angrily on the door of the bunker, and he began to smile.

"What about Castiel?" he asked Lucifer.

"Oh, we'll be seeing him and his little honey very soon. I'm rolling out the welcome mat for him right now," Lucifer replied. He told Crowley about the message he had sent down with Riley, and Crowley's smile widened. Cas must be blowing his top right about now. Fantastic. "What do you say, Crowley? Do you want to join the party?" Lucifer had said.

At that moment, Crowley got the call from Castiel on their Originals frequency. Meet him and Gail at the crossroads, immediately. The King of Hell was very popular all of a sudden. Now, this was more like it. There was nothing like a clash between the forces of Good and Evil to liven things up, and Lucifer's actions could be a game-changer. Crowley continued to smile, trying to remember the last time he had been wooed.

"Give me a few minutes," Crowley told Lucifer. He hung up and snapped himself to the crossroads.

Crowley almost slipped and called them Lancelot and Guinevere. It was funny, really. It seemed that Gail couldn't remember anything at all about her past incarnations. Or if she did, she had never indicated that she did. It was unclear exactly what Castiel remembered, but Crowley was fairly certain that his Brother retained some memories of their prior skirmishes. He couldn't possibly have remembered his Brother dropping the torch on the pyre that day, though. If he had, he would just kill Crowley, every time he saw him, in ever more cruel and creative ways. That had been a big deal between the three of them. Crowley had killed Castiel before, of course, but that was the first time he had ever killed Gail, and she had died screaming in agony. And why had he done it? Because she and Castiel had fornicated? So what? Who didn't, back in those days? Or even now, for that matter. Crowley was not unmindful of the double standard under which he had operated. And the funny thing was, even in these enlightened times, he still felt the same way. She had been his, and she and his Brother had stabbed him in the back. It didn't matter how many chambermaids had serviced him in his bedroom, because it wasn't about the sex, it was about the sense of betrayal. It was about representing yourself to be one thing when you were truly another. That was really why Crowley hated Castiel so much. He knew that his Brother wasn't as lily-white as he claimed to be. He'd even known that back at the time of Creation. Abel wore the mask of the meek and put-upon, but even back then, he'd had his sense of entitlement. When their Father had demonstrated that He loved Abel best, He had laid the groundwork for the eternal animosity between Crowley and Castiel. Their sibling rivalry was born then, and it had grown and ripened throughout the millennia since. Dropping the torch that day had been Crowley's equivalent of modern hip-hop artists dropping the microphone. His ultimate statement. Or it should have been, anyway. But in recent years, Crowley had somehow always found himself dancing to his Brother's tune. It was time to flip the record.

"How are you, sweetheart?" he said to Gail now. "Enjoying the cooler weather we've been having?"

Gail regarded him evenly, but Castiel gave him a sharp look, almost as if he knew what Crowley was picturing in his mind's eye. Perhaps the King had better not push it, then. Too bad; he'd been about to zing Castiel, too. Something about losing his head, possibly. But with these two, it was hard to tell sometimes what they knew, and what they didn't. Castiel and Gail both knew a smattering of French, but as far as he was aware, they didn't know HOW they knew it. Well, Crowley certainly knew. They would have been whispering sickeningly sweet French phrases in each other's ears when Castiel was sticking it to her as Lancelot. He wondered if they still talked like that when they were in their marital bed. Lucky them; their fornication had now been legitimized by the Pope. But that didn't mean that Crowley was done extracting his pound of flesh for it.

"We don't have time for small talk," Castiel snapped. "Lucifer has ascended, and we need to get him out of Heaven immediately."

"I already know about it, Castiel," Crowley said calmly. "He called me on the Hotline a minute ago."

"Well then, let's go," Cas said impatiently.

Crowley held up a finger. "Not so fast."

"What?" Cas said, his voice rising.

"What do I care if he's in Heaven?" Crowley said. "As you all have made abundantly clear to me, Heaven is not my domain, and what happens there is none of my concern."

"He means to start killing Angels if we don't surrender to him!" Cas exclaimed. He felt even more panic now, realizing that Lucifer hadn't stated exactly when the clock would start to tick. Had he already begun?

"I reiterate: so what?" Crowley retorted. "I've lost more than I could possibly count to him, and to your lot. Why should your side not suffer consequences, as well?" He turned to look at Gail. "Sorry, sweetheart. Let me explain: Consequences are those things that everyone else in the known universe face, when they have done something they ought not to."

She looked at him, puzzled. What was wrong with him, all of a sudden? Why was he so angry?

"So, what are you saying?" Castiel said in his quiet voice. "Are you saying that you will not help us?"

"I didn't say that, Castiel," Crowley replied. "If you had let me finish a moment ago, I would have told you that the purpose of Lucifer's call was to seek an alliance with me. He wants to have a summit meeting. Him, me, you, and your missus."

"Why?" Cas said disgustedly. "What could he possibly hope to gain from that? He knows we all align against him."

"Just a moment ago, you were eager for me to join you up there," Crowley remarked.

"Yes, but..." Cas was thinking furiously now. What COULD Lucifer hope to gain with this so-called summit meeting? The four of them had been alone together in one room before, and there had been no change in the status quo. Yes, Lucifer was sitting at God's desk right now, but nothing had changed with regard to their desire to eradicate him, so what would be the point? He looked at Gail, who gave him a half-shrug. She didn't know, either.

"I'll tell you what," Crowley said slowly, stroking his beard. "Why don't I go up there, see what he wants, and then report back to you here?"

Castiel was staring at him. Was he nuts? The Devil and the King of Hell sitting casually in God's office, chatting over a drink and a smoke? Cas didn't think so.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "If I'm not back in five minutes, you can come up there with your blade held high," the King said sardonically. "Meantime, let me just find out what he's got in mind, so we can see what we're dealing with. Do you really want to pop Gail up there with Lucifer in the driver's seat, and us without a plan?"

There. The trump card. Crowley could see Cas working out the dilemma in his head. His Brother's poker face disappeared when it came to her. No, he wouldn't want Gail exposed to the evil that Lucifer represented while he was operating in the dark. Every time the Devil saw her, he had either threatened or actually attempted to violate her. Now that Lucifer was in the High Office, he had access to any number of Biblical weapons that he might stumble upon, which he may or may not know how to use. Cas wasn't even sure if he and Gail and Crowley combined would even be able to touch Lucifer now that he was in God's seat. Cas's method in the past had always been to act first and strategize later, but the stakes had never been this high before.

"Fine. You have your five minutes," Castiel said to Crowley, who gave him a thin smile. Then the King snapped his fingers and disappeared. He reappeared in his office in Hell, where he grabbed the decanter of scotch, and then he ascended to Heaven.

They had one drink, and then they had another. It had been a lot longer than the five minutes now, but Crowley had snapped his fingers when he had gotten there, and a giant hourglass had appeared on the corner of the desk. The sand in the top started to trickle down to the bottom. "If we need more time, I'll just flip it over," he told Lucifer. "Then time will stop, and Castiel will think it's only been five minutes."

Lucifer smirked. "How is our dear Brother?"

"How do you think?" Crowley said, taking a sip of his drink. "Apoplectic. Thanks for that, by the way."

"I've been trying to tell you this whole time that you and I are on the same side," Lucifer said smoothly. "You've been playing on a team that doesn't want you, Crowley. Look around you. Get up and take a walk through the halls. Everybody here is so sickeningly good and innocent. That's not us. What the hell kind of existence is that, anyway? Even Castiel can't stand it. Why do you think he's down there on Earth all the time?"

Crowley nodded. Lucifer was preaching to the choir on that point. So to speak. "Then why do you want to rule Heaven?" he asked the Devil, curious.

"Because I need a Kingdom," Lucifer replied. He took a sip of alcohol, savouring it. "Heaven is like a blank canvas, Crowley. It's just waiting for me to get out my oil paints."

"Too bad it's not still all white, then," Crowley quipped. He'd noticed the difference the instant he'd gotten here, and even though he felt the colour was a big improvement, Crowley suspected he knew how the change had come about. The thought had amused Lucifer, but it had enraged Crowley. All he needed after the reminiscence he'd just had was another reminder of those two in bed.

"You know what I mean," Lucifer said, a trifle peevishly. "My metaphorical oil paints. OK, maybe I'll use a different analogy: Think of Heaven as a big-ass field. I'm going to run around, planting seeds. I've already begun."

"Really? How's that?" Crowley asked, interested now. He sat back in his chair, taking another sip.

"Well, congratulate me, for one thing," Lucifer said cheerfully. "I'm a member of the club now."

"What club is that?" Crowley asked.

"The fornication club," Lucifer said gleefully.

Crowley wasn't sure he even cared, but he asked anyway: "When did that happen?"

"When I first got here, there was a woman here with Bobby," Lucifer replied. He also sat back in his chair, and now he was smiling at the recollection. "A bit of an older woman, but I figured that was probably for the best. You know, experience, and all that. So after I sent Bobby to Earth, we fornicated our brains out."

Crowley's eyebrows raised. "And she was willing?"

"Well, not exactly," Lucifer said, shrugging. "But hey, you can't win 'em all. She must have been happy at some point, though. I seem to remember her crying out loud."

She'd probably been screaming, Crowley thought, and not in the good way. But he said nothing.

"That's good, right?" Lucifer asked the King.

Now Crowley rolled his eyes. "What are you asking ME for? Look, this isn't a locker room, and I couldn't care less about your sex life. What are your plans?"

Lucifer frowned slightly. He'd wanted to brag a bit more. And truthfully, he had no grand, evil plan. He'd just wanted to sound menacing. "If you were me, what would you do?" he countered.

Crowley considered this. What WOULD he do? "I have no interest in running Heaven," he parried. "Get off the pot, Lucifer. What are you proposing, and why should I throw in with you?"

"I'm proposing a partnership," Lucifer replied. "An axis of evil."

Crowley smirked. "Catch up on your news. That's already been done."

"Whatever," Lucifer said irritably. "The bottom line is, I want to stick it to the good guys. What do you say? Are you in, or out?"

"I say I want to think about it," Crowley said casually. "I'll tell you what; I'll leave the booze here, and I'll be back in a flash." He snapped his fingers and disappeared.

Crowley reappeared at the crossroads. Castiel rushed over to him. "What did he say?" Cas wanted to know.

"Nothing much," Crowley advised. "As usual, he's got the organizational skills of a two-year-old."

"Has he killed anyone yet?" Gail asked worriedly.

"Not that I was able to discern," Crowley replied, "but he did...help himself to the woman who was in there with Bobby when he arrived. He was quite pleased with himself about it, too. Though I get the feeling that she might not have been so thrilled." Crowley smirked at Gail. "So, now might be a good time for you to see him, actually. He's probably sated at the moment."

Gail's heart sank into her stomach. Oh, God. Poor Patricia.

"What does he want?" Castiel said sharply.

"An alliance, with me," Crowley said.

"How did he react when you told him no?" Cas persisted.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Who says I told him no? In fact, I told him I would consider it."

Cas rolled his eyes. This was just Crowley being Crowley. Giving them a hard time, as per usual. "I don't have the time for your song and dance right now," Cas snapped.

"Really? You don't? We're eternal beings, are we not?" Crowley asked him coolly. "We've got nothing BUT time."

"But the Angels may not," Gail said, agitated. "Just because he may not have done anything yet, doesn't mean he won't. We need to get up there!"

"So now you're giving me orders, too?" Crowley said angrily. His eyes flashed red for a moment. "I don't think so, sweetheart. You had your chance."

Gail was puzzled again. "What's with you?" she asked him. "Ever since you first showed up, you've been acting funny. Like you're mad at us, or something."

"Now why on earth should I be mad at you, Gail?" he said mildly. But his blood was starting to boil. "After all, I exist just to be at you and your husband's beck and call, do I not?"

Gail's forehead wrinkled. Crowley had always been prickly, but she had never seen him quite like this before. She looked at Cas, who was looking at Crowley.

"I'm losing my patience with you," Castiel said to his Brother. "Are you coming, or not?"

Crowley stood his ground. "Go to the bunker, get Sam and Dean, and bring them here."

Castiel stared at him. Had Crowley lost his mind? "Why?" he asked, confused.

"Maybe I want to give the orders for a change," Crowley said coldly. "Do it."

Cas opened his mouth to argue, but then he closed it again. He felt like time was running out, but he knew his Brother well enough to know that once he dug his heels in like this, it could be a long argument. He sighed, then glanced at Gail. He no longer worried about leaving her alone with Crowley; at least, not for the few seconds it would take for him to collect the Winchesters and bring them back here. If Crowley was going to cause harm to Gail, he'd had ample opportunities to do so. Crowley was no fool; they would need her to provide the additional power required to deal with Lucifer. And once Sam and Dean were here, it would be four of them against one. Why Crowley wanted the Winchesters here right now was anyone's guess, but if it would move things along, Cas had no problem bringing them.

"Just a moment, then," Cas said, tight-lipped. Then he disappeared.

Gail looked at Crowley. "Are you mad at me, or something?" she asked him again. "What's going on?"

"Why should anything be going on?" he said coolly. "Last I looked, I was the King of Hell, and you two were Angels. You made your choice a long time ago, sweetheart."

Gail gave up. He was obviously just in a mood. Did Demons have monthly cycles?

"Don't think that just because you've had a wedding, it'll be smooth sailing from now on," Crowley said enigmatically. "Life with my Brother will never be easy. I could have given you a life of ease. I could have given you everything. With him, you'll know nothing but misery. It's just his way."

"Look, I know how you and he are by now, but you're either going to have to stop it, or tell me who peed in your cereal this morning," Gail said, shaking her head and rolling her eyes.

Crowley nearly smiled, but then he stopped himself. No. This was how she always got you. If it wasn't the doe eyes, it was the quips. She was too sweet to be a Demon, yet too tart to be an Angel. His Brother was the luckiest son of a bitch in the universe. His Brother was an idiot. And so was she. But so would Crowley be, if he kept on trying to make her see the error of her ways. Even death hadn't stopped her from going back to Castiel. So really, if she was going to be that stupid, didn't she deserve whatever she got?

"Never mind, sweetheart, you'll see," he replied.

Cas appeared then, holding Sam's arm with one hand and Dean's with the other.

"Oh, good," Dean said as soon as he saw Crowley. "Because we don't see this asshat enough."

Sam grinned, but he was mystified. "Why did you want to see us, Crowley?" he asked the King. "Shouldn't you guys be kicking Lucifer's ass right now?"

"'You guys'," Crowley repeated. "An interesting choice of words, Moose. That would imply that we're all on the same team."

"Well, when it comes to Lucifer, we are, aren't we?" Cas said. He was thoroughly bewildered now. What had gotten into Crowley all of a sudden?

"Let me ask you something, Castiel," Crowley said. "If we all team up to vanquish Lucifer, what then? Would I be welcomed into the loving bosom of the family? Could I sit down at your dinner table, Castiel, or go on cases with Sam and Dean? Would there ever come a time when I could take your wife out for a friendly drink and not have to worry about looking over my shoulder to see you standing there, with your blade at the ready?"

Sam and Dean exchanged glances. He had to be kidding with this. "No, of course not," Castiel said without hesitation.

"If you sat down at their dinner table, you'd steal the silverware," Sam said bluntly.

"What's this all about, Crowley? What are you looking for, here?" Dean asked him brusquely.

"Nothing," Crowley said in a clipped tone. "I'm looking for nothing. Which is exactly what I knew I would get from you lot."

Gail was looking at him speculatively now. Despite his protests, she thought that Crowley was trying to reach out to them in his way. He might have known these men a lot longer than he'd known her, but Gail thought she might understand a bit more about where the King of Hell was coming from than they did. He was looking for reassurance, and all he was getting in return were insults.

"Be careful if he invites Gail for a drink," Dean was saying to Cas. "He'll probably 'roofie' her."

Crowley's look was very dark now. "Guys, can I talk to you for a minute?" Gail said, poking Dean in the arm. "Excuse us," she said to Crowley.

"Tick tock, sweetheart," he said casually. Now he hoped that Lucifer HAD started killing Angels. The more, the merrier. They were all the bloody same.

"Can't you see what he's doing?" Gail spoke quietly to the men, so Crowley wouldn't hear.

"What, besides getting on our nerves as usual?" Sam asked her.

"He's trying to reach out," she said impatiently. "He's trying to get some kind of assurance that we won't turn on him later on, if he helps us now."

"Well, he's dreaming," Cas said diffidently. "Besides, I don't think that's what he's doing at all."

"Who cares? He's a lying, scheming little troll," Dean chipped in. "You of all people should know that."

"The day I have him at my dinner table would be the day they rent out ice skates in his domain," Cas said cleverly.

But Gail was looking at them all. "Can't we give him a little something, at least?" she asked them, frowning.

"Like what, Gail? Should we invite him over for Christmas and have him carve the turkey, maybe? He'll stick the carving knife right in our backs," Sam said sarcastically.

"Or maybe we'll ask him to build the fire," Dean chipped in. "That'd be his specialty, wouldn't it? Come on, Gail, get your head out of your ass! This is Crowley! King of Hell? Killed your family? Any of this ringing a bell?"

Cas looked sharply at Dean for a moment, and then he grabbed his wife by her upper arms. "What's going on, Gail?" Cas said angrily. "What did he do to you while I was gone?"

"Nothing, and you're hurting me, Cas," she said, shaking free from his grip. Cas grimaced. He hadn't meant to hurt her; he just couldn't believe that she was taking up for Crowley on her own.

"After everything he's put us through, everything he's done, and everything he represents, you want us to welcome him into our home as a family member?" Cas said to her, his voice rising.

"I didn't say that, exactly," Gail said uncomfortably. But what WAS she trying to say? She didn't know. The guys were right, but: "I just get the feeling that if we don't extend the olive branch a little now, we may regret it in the future," she told them.

"No," Castiel said shortly.

"No?" she asked him, her forehead wrinkling. She considered. Was the point worth calling, or should she just fold her hand?

"Don't bother, sweetheart," Crowley said suddenly. "It's no more than I expected. Never mind; let's go. We must protect those sweet, innocent Angels."

"So, that's it? That's what you brought us all the way here for?" Dean fumed.

"Yes, that's it," Crowley said coolly. "Now, go home and open a fresh bottle. You're going to need it." He looked at Cas. "Go ahead, take them back to the bunker. I can wait."

Cas looked at him suspiciously. Crowley was acting strangely, even by his standards. Then Cas glanced at Gail.

"Take her with you, Castiel, by all means," Crowley said calmly. "She can't be left alone with a beast such as myself. I might force myself upon her."

Castiel continued to stare at Crowley for a moment. Then he took Gail's hand, and the Angels linked hands with the Winchesters, winking the brothers back to the bunker.

"What's with him?" Dean said peevishly. "He's being even more of a douchebag than usual."

"I don't know, Dean," Cas sighed. "But, we'd better get back. Please make sure that no one leaves the safety of the bunker. I'll let you know what's happening as soon as we have any news."

"OK, Cas," Dean said. He looked uncertainly at Gail. "Are you gonna be OK?" He still couldn't figure out why she had been asking them to make nice with Crowley. Apparently, they needed him to help take care of Lucifer, but after that happened, Dean didn't see any reason for any of them to have anything further to do with him. They would definitely have to have that discussion later, straighten everything out.

"I guess so, Dean," Gail said quietly. She was pensive now. She was getting one of her intuitions, but it was more like a vague feeling of unease. Something was wrong here.

Cas grabbed her hand, and he winked them back to the crossroads. Crowley was standing there waiting. Without another word, Crowley took Gail's other hand, and they ascended.

Lucifer broke into a huge grin when the three of them appeared before him. "Welcome to my office!" he exclaimed. He had lit another cigar and poured himself another drink; now, he put both down on the desk. "But, where are my manners?" He stood and indicated the three chairs that sat across from the desk. "You see? I have learned something from you, Castiel. Always stand when a lady enters the room."

Gail bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from making a nervous quip. The sight of Lucifer sitting in God's chair like he belonged there made her sick with disgust and fear. She was extremely afraid now.

"This is not your office," Castiel said in his quiet voice. "How dare you stand there and try to pretend that you belong here?"

"Hey, I have just as much right to be here as you do, Cas," Lucifer said, shrugging. "Maybe more, considering what you used to be."

"That was different," Cas fumed. "I had a disease."

"Ah, yes, so you did," Lucifer said, nodding. He was trying to keep a straight face. The expression on Castiel's face was worth the price of admission alone. He looked at Gail. "Perhaps you should take your husband to see the doctor, dear. Maybe he needs some medication to regulate his blood pressure."

"How many Angels have you killed?" Castiel demanded.

"Oops, there go my manners again," Lucifer said cheerfully, ignoring the question. "Please, have a seat, everyone. Make yourselves comfortable. Have a drink." He waved the decanter at them. "I know you'll have one, Crowley."

"Yes, I believe I will," Crowley said airily, accepting a glass from Lucifer. "Thank you, Brother." He sat down, taking a sip.

Castiel looked at Crowley incredulously. "What are you doing?" he exclaimed. "Let's join together and banish him!" At the very least, he thought. As angry as Castiel was right now, he felt he might just be able to produce enough power to blast Lucifer right out of existence. This was their Father's Office, and Lucifer was treating it as if it were some kind of a nightclub.

"Wow, Castiel, are you ever wound tight," Lucifer said, shaking his head. He looked at Gail. "Are you sure you don't want to throw him a quick one, honey? We can wait, can't we, Crowley? Tell you what. If you let us watch, I'll spare your friends. I think I was pretty good, but I'm not so proud that I can't pick up a few pointers. You can just bend her over the desk, right here. In fact, why don't you start, and then I'll join in. I've always wanted to try that."

"You're disgusting, and you will pay for everything you've done," Castiel said. He was seething.

"Will I?" Lucifer said calmly. "Well, I'd better be extra bad, then. Maybe I'll just do her, instead. She's got to be feeling deprived. It's been a whole hour, hasn't it, Gail?" She looked at him, startled. How could he know that?

He didn't, of course; he was just playing with them. Having his kind of fun. "And we all know how healthy her appetite is, don't we, Crowley?" Lucifer continued. "Are you comfortable, Guinevere, or would you like me to turn up the air conditioning?"

Gail looked at him, her eyes growing wide. Guinevere? What was he calling her that for? Had everyone around here lost their minds? "What are you - " she started to say, but before she could finish her sentence, Castiel lost it. He leaned down and hauled Crowley to his feet, putting his Angel blade to his throat.

"Our Father must have blessed us with amnesia about that day," Cas growled in Crowley's face, "but I remember everything, now. I begged you not to do it, yet you did it, anyway."

Crowley had been surprised when Cas had grabbed him like that, and he dropped his glass on the carpet. Now, he put his hands up in mock surrender. "Calm down, Castiel," he said. "For the record, I realize that may have been a tad harsh. She's the only one of your group who has ever taken up for me or expressed even one tiny grain of politeness towards me. If I could take it back, I probably would. But what's done is done. Betrayal hurts, you know. You two went behind my back."

"We were in love, you piece of filth," Cas said through gritted teeth. "She was nothing but a piece of property to you, and even now, she is just another piece on the chessboard to you all. But we have always been in love and we always will be, and if this blade could kill you, I would be dancing on your grave right now."

"Kids, kids," Lucifer said mildly. "As entertaining as this show is, I suppose we'd better get to the point, before Castiel strokes out. Let's all sit down, like civilized people." He waved his hand and Crowley, Castiel and Gail were plunked down in the chairs.

Cas looked at the blade in his hand and glared at Crowley. "I should cut your throat anyway, just to watch you bleed. I should inflict thousands of tiny cuts on you, just to see you suffer. You had better hope that I never make my way back to Hell, or it will be you on that rack. Remember, I'm an expert at torture, and as you so recently reminded me, we're eternal beings."

Crowley looked at him evenly. "I should think it would be your little bedmate who would want revenge, Lance. At least you died quickly."

Gail had been only half-listening to their exchange. Now she was seeing all kinds of disjointed images in her head. The men, sitting around a very different kind of table than the one at the bunker. Her and Cas, sitting on a blanket and having a picnic. Then suddenly, she felt as if her skin was on fire.

"You burned me at the stake?" she said to Crowley, astonished.

He gave her a half-shrug. "What can I say, sweetheart? I'm the King of Hell for a reason, you know."

Now it was Gail's turn to lose her temper. She laughed shortly. "Thanks for the reminder, Crowley. I had forgotten how repulsive you really are. Well, you can forget about any politeness from me from now on. You killed my parents, you killed my brother, and you've been screwing with me for as long as I've known you. And now, I find out that even that wasn't enough for you! I can't believe I ever took up for you or tried to convince anybody that you have any feelings," she said angrily.

"Feelings?" Lucifer said, mocking her. "Feelings are for suckers. For namby-pamby, lily-white Angels, like the sheep I see walking around here. I should just kill them all and put them out of their misery. None of them has any guts, or any balls."

"What do you want?" Castiel asked him irritably. "Why are you here, then?"

"Why, to cause you as much trouble as possible, Castiel," Lucifer said indifferently. "Because it's always all about you. Isn't that right, Cas?"

"Amen to that," Crowley said, smirking. He was helping himself to another drink. "So to speak."

"It just so happens that I do have a purpose for being here," Lucifer said. "As you well know, I've always wanted to rule the Kingdom of Heaven. If our Father hadn't had his hissy fit and thrown me in that cage, I would have been the rightful successor when he retired. But because I wasn't here, and because you've spent your whole existence avoiding any real responsibility for anything, Castiel, we ended up with Bobby Singer. A surly, middle-aged alcoholic with mommy issues. And despite what you may think, I care about Heaven. It deserves a ruler with a better pedigree than that. Xavier wasn't the answer; he had the term of service in his favour, but he also had a stick so far up his butt that we would have been thrown back into the Dark Ages if he'd been allowed to take over. Now that Heaven has computers, and colour, and free love, I'm here to really open things up. Sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll, baby."

"So that includes rape, and torture?" Castiel thundered.

Lucifer shrugged. "Hey, rank has its privileges. So, here's the long and short of it: I'm going to rule Heaven, Crowley's going to rule Hell, and you and your little wife are either going to serve me or stay the hell out of my way."

"That will not happen," Cas said. "What IS going to happen is that the three of us are going to band together to drive you out of here. And maybe, just maybe, or Father will give me the extra strength I need to turn you into dust, in the bargain."

"The three of you?" Lucifer said, amused. "Are you intending to align yourself with these two, Your Majesty?" he asked Crowley.

Crowley looked at the Angels. They were both glaring at him now with hatred in their eyes. Oh, well. He had ceased to care. The best thing about hitting your head against a stone wall was the moment when you stopped. They thought they were better than him, but they were wrong. They were nothing but a duplicitous, adulterous duo who wore the disguise of Angels, but he knew who and what they truly were.

"No," he said to Lucifer. "No, I'm not. I like your scenario better. I have iron chains and dog collars you can borrow, if you like."

Lucifer gave him an exaggerated leer. "Now you're talking my language."

"Are you seriously not going to help us?" Gail asked Crowley, incredulous. "After all this time of telling us that you would?"

Crowley shrugged. "People lie all the time, sweetheart. Don't act as if you don't know that."

"Look, whatever you have against us is between us," Cas said to him. "But you can't be serious about allowing him to sit in our Father's chair and rule Heaven. He'll destroy us all!"

"No, I won't," Lucifer said, smirking. "Just those of you who really, really deserve it. So what'll it be, Castiel? Either get on board or get the eff out." He looked at Gail. "That was in deference to you, honey. Apparently, women don't like it when you use those kinds of words. Patricia didn't; that was for sure. But I couldn't help it. Damn, sex is good. No wonder you and Cas want to do it all the time."

"You're a rapist, and a pig," she told him.

"You say poh-tay-to," Lucifer said affably. "Your sainted husband's no better."

"You have got to be kidding me," she retorted. "He's better than you in every category imaginable."

He smirked. "You just keep on thinking that. So what'll it be, Castiel? Sorry, Gail, but this is just between us pigs." He waved his hand, dismissing her comments.

Cas was thinking furiously now. He was beyond angry that Crowley had turned his back on them at the eleventh hour, but truthfully, he wasn't even all that surprised. However, because of it, the balance of power had shifted. He and Gail could not hope to take on Lucifer and Crowley combined, and survive. If it had just been Castiel here, without Gail, he would have tried, anyway. If he were killed in the attempt, at least he would have died trying to protect Heaven, and the Angels. But either one of those two men could obliterate Gail with one wave of his hand, and she was Cas's priority.

"Doing the math, are we?" Crowley asked Cas. "In this case, two against two does not equal a fair fight. You know that, don't you?"

Lucifer stood from his chair, and Cas tensed. But the Devil merely walked around the desk and came to stand over him and Gail. "If you'll surrender right here and now, Castiel, you can leave here hand in hand with your little wife and live out the rest of your existence any way you want. The only condition I have is that the two of you would have to leave your family and friends behind. I don't want to hear anything about any Tablets, or any more plans to put me back in my cage. I don't want to hear even one peep out of Team Free Will. Whoever came up with such a stupid name, anyway? It sounds like a Disney movie, or something. So that's the deal, Cas. If you give up, your wife, your Winchesters, the Angels, and anybody else you might care about will get to live on. Oh, and one more thing: you can't tell them about this agreement, either. You can tell them you're leaving, just not why. But if you persist in pursuing a lost cause, they'll all die. And not quickly and painlessly, either. I'm pretty sure you don't want to be responsible for all that suffering, do you? Haven't you hurt your loved ones enough?"

"You know, every time you offer me a deal, you make it so easy to refuse," Cas told him. "But this time, I think I'll actually take you up on it." He took Gail's hand and then looked from Lucifer to Crowley and then back again. "You know, the two of you deserve each other," Cas continued. You'll find that neither one of you will get what you're looking for. But in the meantime, you have just set me free. No more worry. No more responsibility. Gail and I can live out the rest of our existences in total bliss, and never have to deal with the likes of the two of you ever again."

"So you'd be willing to abandon Heaven, then? Turn your back on all the Angels, and your human family?" Lucifer asked him unbelievingly. This had to be a lie, or a trick. There was no way Castiel was giving in this easily.

"Sure," Cas said casually. "I'm selfish, am I not? Spoiled? Entitled? Then, let me be all those things."

"Shake on it?" Lucifer said slyly.

"Why not?" Cas shrugged. He let go of Gail's hand and stood from his chair, facing Lucifer. He stuck out his hand, and Lucifer grinned. As soon as their hands clasped and their essences mingled, it would be a done deal. No takesies-backsies.

Gail was staring up at them. She wondered what Cas had up his sleeve. The men clasped hands, and Lucifer's green essence mixed with Castiel's blue, creating a brilliant yellow colour. It would have been a nice, cheery colour if it wasn't for the fact that every time Gail saw it, something awful seemed to happen. But she was a realist; now that Crowley had betrayed them, they had to get out of here with their lives, first and foremost, and then figure something out. So she said nothing.

Once the handshake was over, Lucifer said, "Pleasure doing business with you, Cas. Go forth and have a nice life. But remember, try to double-cross me, and everybody dies." He grabbed Gail and pulled her to her feet, cupping her face with his hand. "Starting with this one," Lucifer added.

"No sweat," Cas said cheerfully. "I'll see you around, my Brothers. It's been real. Here's looking forward to your agonizing deaths." He poured himself a shot from the decanter and drank it down.

Crowley looked at him suspiciously, but Lucifer grinned broadly. That was the true Castiel, right there. The selfish bastard who would sell out his own grandmother for an easy path. He'd abandoned Heaven, all the Angels, and his precious Winchesters without batting an eyelash, all for a piece of tail, and freedom from responsibility. Wow. And they called Lucifer cold. The handshake had sealed their agreement. If Cas tried to go back on it, his loved ones would all die, one by one. And Gail would be the first.

Cas grabbed Gail's hand, winking them out of Heaven without another word.

They reappeared in the backyard outside the bunker.

"Well, wasn't that fun?" Gail said sarcastically. "So what's the plan now?"

"Plan?" Cas echoed. "We get our money, and we get the hell out of Dodge."

Her forehead wrinkled as she stared at him. Cas used more colloquialisms now than he once had, but that didn't sound like him. "Did Lucifer do something to you?" she asked him. "You're acting strange."

He put his arms around her. "He didn't do something TO me, he did something FOR me," he told her, smiling. "He did something wonderful, Gail. He released me from my bondage. I've spent my entire existence in indentured servitude to Heaven. I did everything my Father asked of me, for untold centuries. Even when I screwed up, it was because I was trying so hard to please him. To be the best Angel I could possibly be. But you know what, Gail? I'm a crappy Angel! I can never seem to do anything that's good enough for everyone. God, the Angels, you...I always let everybody down. But now I'm absolved of all of that! No more guilt. No more blaming myself when things go wrong. We're going to go in there, get our money from the safe, kiss and hug everybody goodbye, and leave. Let THEM get the Tablets. Let them worry for every second of their damn lives. I can't live like that anymore, Gail. I'm not a hero, and I'm not God. I want to be a nothing, an average Joe, a nobody. Do you remember how happy we were when we were living in Vancouver, away from all of that? We could be that way again. I owe you so much, Gail. You're my whole life. Let me give you the kind of life that you deserve."

She was staring into his eyes, stunned. "You're not bluffing, are you?" she said softly. "You really mean what you're saying."

"Yes, I do," he said earnestly. He leaned down, nuzzling her cheek with his. "Think about it, my love. Just you and me. We can go anywhere, do anything we want. Wouldn't you love to be able to just let go? When was the last time we ever spent any time together when we didn't have to worry about everyone's lives being in mortal danger? You deserve that, Gail. It'll be the closest we could ever come to living a normal life. Please. Let me give that to you."

"How can we be sure that he won't just turn around and kill everybody as soon as your back is turned?" Gail asked him.

Cas smiled grimly. "That's the beauty of the handshake agreement. It works both ways. He can't harm any of our loved ones now. If he did, he would be destroyed."

"So he can't hurt or kill any of our group?" she persisted.

"That's right, nor any Angel!" Cas confirmed excitedly. "This agreement protects everyone! And all we've got to do to keep everyone safe is to leave him alone."

"And leave our family and friends," she pointed put glumly.

"Yes, well...one step at a time," he said vaguely. "But first, we'll have that honeymoon I owe you. What do you say, Gail? Will you let me take you on a honeymoon? Please?"

She thought about that. Whatever they planned to do about Lucifer, she knew they definitely had to regroup first. And if it was true that Lucifer couldn't harm anyone in the meantime, they could relax for a few days while they contemplated their next move.

"OK, Cas," Gail said, and his face lit up. "Really?" he said. She nodded. "Yes. Really. Take me on a honeymoon, sweetie," she said.

He kissed her on the mouth, and his blue glow mixed with her golden one, sealing their agreement.

\- END OF BOOK 19. -


End file.
